Bagel Thursday
by PeechTao
Summary: A mission to reclaim some of Tony' tech in Egypt doesn't go as planned. Clint must choose: be scarred for life, or die beside Tony and Steve. To him, the decision is a no brainer. With the help of Banner, Clint must come to terms with this new handicap as they try to find a cure before the others find out. SHIELD doesn't carry damaged goods, so how can he cope as a deaf assassin?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**_ So most of this story is already roughed out, but a few alterations need to be accomplished along the way. For now please enjoy the first chapter!_

**Synopsis:**_ So, after a wonderful prompt by Avengers Fanfiction Guidelines. In it was mentioned the intriguing reality that Clint is 80% deaf, so prepare your pants kids for PeechTao's version. Also included: a SURPRISE appearance by someone we all know and love, and who i have NEVER included in my stories. Please enjoy! Other prompts from Byakko Loki will include Clint's random appearances in high places._

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**Bagel Thursday**

_PeechTao_

The long lasting implication of a single act is the basis of the Butterfly effect. One decision, made hastily, could alter the course of one's history. For the better, or the worse, these moments of decision come without warning. It is at this moment we are tested to the very extent of ourselves and the human condition is measured against a scale of selfishness or self-sacrifice. It is at this time, that critical period that may only be a few fleeting seconds, where a true brother, friend, leader, is gauged for his worth.

Clint Barton had two such moments in his life. One occurred in a Dunkin Doughnuts over a morning bagel. Clint was only a kid, straight out of three different circus acts and causing trouble with a few of the shadier underworlds. He expected that the appearance of a man dressed in a black suit and tie meant he was on his way to getting arrested. Somehow the man convinced him to sit down, finish eating, and let him explain.

That man was Phil Coulson. He represented SHIELD and Clint was officially recruited if only he said yes. So in that Dunkin Doughnuts shop over his salt bagel and Pineapple cream cheese, Clint's life would change. Therefore, so would Thursday mornings. Forever after, Clint and Coulson would go on to share that private time every Thursday, no matter where they were, whether together or apart. It was always Bagel Thursday.

Clint Barton's second moment came in the midst of a firefight. It was Egypt. The heat was enough to peel tar off the pavement, crack rocks in half and break any man of his will to move. It was the middle of the day. The sun was heavy above them, beating against their backs. Tony in his Iron Man suit was probably baking from the inside out. He had suffered enough damage to knock out his cooling jets.

Steve was covered in sweat. His own uniform did little to wick the moisture from his back and chest. His shield was over his head, keeping off the sun and deflecting the random gunfire at the same time. Clint was pressed against a crumbled wall directly beside the Captain. His quiver was on the other side of the wall and out of reach. The strap had broken while reflecting a bullet meant for Clint's chest.

Across from them was the line of assailants. Twelve strong, typically not a match for them, but there was a singular advantage. Somehow the men had gotten their hands on a sonic destabilizer. Upon first introduction to the weapon, Clint, Steve and Tony were all sprawled across the ground, ears bleeding in utter pain. A modification of Tony's own device originally meant to paralyze but now manipulated to kill.

SHIELD caught first wind of it on the recent mission in Palestine. A village, deemed not even a target, was found dead from what looked like nothing short of their brains being scrambled. One look at the file Tony "just happened" to intercept, and suddenly he knew exactly what they were dealing with. After all, it had been done to him once before. Tony also knew the device had been modified, so he upgraded their equipment just for the occasion. Apparently those upgrades weren't enough. The only saving grace was the impromptu malfunction the machine experienced. The insurgents were working to fix that now while the Avengers took the opportunity to get back on their feet and fight.

"Tony, we've got to destroy that thing!" Steve called over to Iron Man.

"Yeah, trying here." Tony told him. He fussed with the cuff on his arm, pulling a small rocket from the malfunctioning launcher, he tossed it toward the group and fired a repulsor which set the explosion off. Unfortunately the insurgents replied to his attack with their own RPG.

Clint felt himself tumble through the air. The world was spinning. The small wall he was hunkered behind blasted around them until it was left to dust. Across from him Tony was stretched across the ground. He wasn't moving. To Clint's immediate right was Steve. His face was bleeding down him chin. He moved slowly, trying to get to his feet. A long piece of rebar was sticking through his side.

Clint got up. He grabbed his quiver. It had fallen at his feet. The arrows were scattered around him.

The insurgents were shifting. The sonic machine was working again. They pressed something into their ears, protecting themselves from the sound.

Clint knew it was coming. This was the moment his life could change forever. He looked at Steve. The world was moving at a crawl around him. Steve had made it to his feet but just barely. He meant to rush the line. He wouldn't be fast enough before that device had him flat. Tony. Tony was fighting with his own suit, peeling away armor that had superheated in the sun and blast. He was baking. He was helpless. He was trapped.

The sonic device wrenched through their skulls. Clint's hand was on the arrowhead he searched for, but the overwhelming paralysis was beating through his very brain. His body was catatonic. His mind rapidly tried to solve some way to save them.

It was either him, or everyone, he realized with a groan. Either Clint was going to be damaged, beyond recompense, or all three. Could he live, if he lived, with that on his conscious?

He couldn't. The decision was made. The moment passed and he was already fighting against the pulses through his brain. Clint would do this to save Tony, to save Steve. But doing so would leave him changed forever.

He held the arrowhead in his palm and dragged his body until his head and his face were together. His consciousness was slipping. He was dying. But at least he had enough strength for this. His other arm came up over his head and his body squeezed together against the arrowhead. Fight fire with fire, he thought. Sonic with sonic. If he couldn't hear, he couldn't be hurt. He'd be free. He'd save the day. He had to cover the arrowhead enough, to make sure Steve and Tony weren't deafened when the trigger was pulled. Squeezed into a ball, the arrowhead pressed between his teeth, Clint flicked the trigger.

There was no going back.

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End chapter one! hope you enjoyed. If you did: tell me!


	2. Chapter 2

**Author note: **_Thanks for all the great feedback! Please keep reviewing,i need that little boost. if you want additional content, or inspiring photos/songs/etc i use in my writing process: Check me out on Facebook under PeechTao._

_Also my computer recently crashed. As I'm living in a little island in the middle of absolute no where, getting a new one has proved problematic. Will keep you updated._

**Bagel Thursday**

_PeechTao_

Chapter 2

When Tony awoke from the fog, he was sitting beneath the shade in a dilapidated old building somewhere on the North Eastern edge of Egypt. He had been stripped down to his shirt and pants, but his Iron Man suit laid within reach beside him. A careful look around the room led him to realize they weren't in much of a building at all, but rather a shack. The roof was simple thatch, struck together perhaps in the forties and never mended since. The walls were clay brick interspersed with glass bottles and other randomly found objects like tire rubber. He could see just outside the curtain doorway a band of sunlight disappearing on the horizon and the wheel of a motor bike.

"Awake at last?"

Tony shifted his position. He leaned forward, rubbing a hand across his face to free some of the sand caked across it. Clint was crouching beside him and handed over a bowl.

"Water, drink it. You're still dehydrated."

"Is this filtered?" Tony asked.

"Just drink it." Clint replied.

Tony accepted the offer, but looked disdainfully at the fluid. "You know how many diseases could be in this? I didn't happen to see you pack a brita in our gear."

Clint had turned away, completely ignoring his complaints. Steve was standing by a cut out window carved into the brick. An old sheet served as the curtain. Across his chest was a long strip cut from the same sheet, apparently stemming a flow of blood.

"Take one for the team, Cap?" Tony asked.

Steve turned a little. "Hmm? Oh, yeah. Clint said it was rebar. I woke up here like you."

"Our little Hawk-spy saved the day?" Tony asked in mock surprise. "My God, and I left my polaroid at home!"

Steve cracked a smile. "We were waiting on you and the meet up with Natasha before we moved out again."

Tony got to his feet and dusted himself off. "So I take it we saved the day, destroyed the bad guys, reclaimed my tech, and saved the damsel in distress?"

"No damsel this time."

"Do Russians count?"

Clint had left the hut to check on something out doors and returned now. "She's coming up the alley with a car. We can pile in and meet back at SHIELD base."

"So soon? How long was I out?" Tony asked, stretching the kinks in his back.

"I called a few hours ago." Clint said. "Figured we'd want to get out as soon as possible." He grabbed a few handfuls of Tony's gear and walked them out to the car. Natasha had the trunk open already and Clint placed some of Tony's suit into it.

"You know, technically I could still fly home." Tony said. "If I have to share the backseat with Million-Dollar Spangles I will complain to Pepper."

"Shot Gun." Clint called, pulling open the passenger door. He sat down before Tony could bawk.

Natasha smiled at Stark from behind her shades. "Solves that. So, are you flying so I can have some peace during this drive?"

"Really?" Tony whined to the passenger window. Steve appeared with the rest of Starks gear. At first he held it out, as if somehow Tony would manage to breathe life back into his fried circuits. Or at least enough repulsor power to fulfill his warning.

"I don't like to be handed things." Tony told him.

So Steve dropped the pile of scrap at Stark's feet and got into the car.

Tony looked at Natasha. "Can I drive?"

"No."

"I don't like back seats. Especially ones most likely infected with lice or human mucus or something."

"You like Happy's back seats, and I think you'll live." Natasha slammed the driver's door. She looked over to Clint. "So how long did you have to put up with that before I got here?"

Clint smiled. "You got here fast enough."

"Finished my end this morning."

"How'd the mission go?"

"Well enough. I didn't blow anything, or anyone up. Even myself. So that is an improvement on the show you had."

Tony was in at last. Natasha slid the car in gear and they headed down the back alleys of Egypt. She could feel Clint begin to relax beside her. Obviously Tony had worn him out, especially being stuck in a shack with him. She was going to say something to the effect, but Clint surprised her.

"How far to the pick up?" His face turned to her as he asked.

"About two hours. Take traffic. Why?"

He nodded his head then settled down in his seat. "Wake me when we get there. Dragging Tony around the desert and pulling rebar out of Cap did me in."

"Awe, were we to much for Spy-hard?" Tony asked. "You know, at least Goldilocks got to wake up to three bears after being fed. All I got was your ugly face and some goat urine. Who was better off?"

Clint didn't take the bait. He rolled over in his seat, propping his legs on the dash board. Tucked comfortably, his breathing leveled until for all appearance sake he was sound asleep. When a few minutes passed in silence, Tony kicked the back of the seat. Clint just reached back and tried to smack him for it.

"Now, kids I _will_ have Miss Romanov pull this car over!" Steve warned.

Clint went back to his ball and Tony pulled out his cell phone. Then Tony rolled down the window, and rolled up the window. He leaned his head back into the sunlight, looked over at Rogers, and kicked Clint's seat again.

Steve sighed. It was going to be a very long few hours.

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_if you think that's the last your read of what happened after the attack, think again! coming next, Clint's POV  
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	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:**_After reviewing _**Never Again**_, i mentioned that i would refuse to update Bagel Thursday until i heard the dramatic conclusion. As of today that conclusion was posted, so here it is! the new chapter! Want updates/inspiration/fun photos? Check out my Peech Tao facebook page to join the fun. Many spoilers were spilled by my roommate on there the other day and you can follow the new stories i'm working on before they come out.  
_

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**Bagel Thursday**

_PeechTao_

_**CLINT**_

The sensation of a sonic arrow blasting through his skull was agonizing. It left him panting, screaming, his ear were bleeding, his ear drums throbbing or shattered. He wasn't sure which. Probably both. But there was one thing that changed very quickly: the paralytic effects of the stolen Stark Tech.

Clint recovered quickly. He was in a pile of his arrows with his bow in his hand. No one would expect him to get up, not after that attack. So no one anticipated what happened next. Clint grabbed the first tip close to him. By the feel of the notches on the shaft he knew it was a knock out arrow. He fired it into the midst of the insurgents. Down wind. Would not come back to him. The next he pulled from the pile was a broad head. He fired it through the chest of the man with the device. He fell over backwards with his mouth hanging slack. Another arrow. Bomb. He fired a little further away, behind the group. The concussive force launched them through the air and toward him. Another arrow. Another broad head. Another Chest. Repeat.

Clint pulled arrows like a mad man. When he ran out, he got to feet and worked with his knife. By the time he was done, no one was moving. Blood coated the dirt, his hands, and his weapons. It was over.

The world was so very quiet. He could see the faces gnarled in pain. Throats tense in uttered screams. But on his ears they were distant and muffled. Even the blasts from his most powerful arrows did little but impress a thump through his damaged ears. Now as the battle lay finished, Clint could soak in the true result of what he'd just done.

It hit him like a brick. He staggered for a minute as the adrenaline poured out of his core. He reached what was left of the little rebar wall and leaned against it. His hands probed the sides of his head. They came away bloody, but not overly so. He snapped his fingers beside his right ear. No sound came to him. He snapped again, and then he tried the left. He clapped his hands. He made a strangled sound with his mouth. He screamed. He threw something to the ground to listen for the crash but nothing. Nothing at all came to him.

Deaf.

The word coursed through his mind like a death sentence. Clint Barton. Master Spy. Marks man like none the world had ever seen. Eyes as sharp as a hawk. Agent of SHIELD. Avenger. He was deaf.

The thought of who he was, who he once was, brought the memory of Stark and Steve. Shakily Barton pushed away from the wall to find them. He had to be sure they were all right. He'd done what he could to absorb the sound of his arrow head, but was it enough? He made it to Stark first. The man was still steaming in what remained of his suit. Clint pulled the rest of the pieces off, piling them to the side. He looked thoroughly over Tony's face. Turned his head gently left and right. He said his name, at least he thought he was saying it. It was strange to speak not knowing what his volume was doing.

Tony turned a little at the sound. He seemed to be coming around. He could hear Clint at least.

Clint sighed a little in relief, but couldn't forget Steve. He left Tony to go to their captain. The rebar was sticking out of the side of his abdomen. Clint knew enough from experience that Steve would be fine, so long as he got the bar out of him. It was hard to heal around something that sized. He grabbed the metal with both hands and pulled it free with little reservation. When it was out, Clint pounced down on the spurt of blood pumping out of the wound. He desperately clamped onto that wound for nearly twenty minutes under the Egyptian heat. It took time, but the blood stopped flowing. The outside was already beginning to granulate over. Clint clapped his hands over Steve's head, hard, and got a response every time. Both Steve and Tony had escaped without serious damage.

Clint had not. His life was different. Now it would never be like it was. The minute Director Fury caught wind he was damaged goods—

But that was just the problem wasn't it? Fury did have to find out, or did he? If Clint played this right, if he did everything in just the right fashion, he could delay what would surely be his expulsion from active duty. How could he do that? Steve and Tony were unconscious; neither knew the truth of what Clint had done to save them. If he had his way, they never would. Natasha would be hard to fool, she'd known him too long. He had to call her for a pickup. How could he do that?

Text her. He'd text her. It wasn't abnormal for him to do it. As the thoughts crossed his mind he was already acting them out. Now what? Grab the tech.

Clint combed the bodies of the insurgents he'd felled. Soon they'd been stripped of everything that made them dangerous and a pile of war-making devices were tucked safely in Clint's stash of heavy explosives. He messaged his SHIELD handler and requested the air strike.

Now Tony and Steve. He had to get them out of the open. Steve had parachuted in. Tony had carried Clint off the plane (dropping him once since he thought it was funny). Clint had cursed, and then laughed at the time.

He realized he'd never hear his own laugh again.

There was no way they could stay there, hoping SHIELD wouldn't kill them in their need to paint the desert red. Natasha couldn't possibly get there in time to pick them up before the bombs rained down. Clint would need to find a way out himself.

He crossed the battle lines to the copse of low buildings the rebels had hunkered down in. It wasn't perfect, but he did find something there. A motor bike. Left over from some world war or straight off the set of Indian Jones, the old motorcycle and sidecar were tucked in a low shed beneath a camouflage tarp. Clint found the key in the ignition and turned it over. When no sound came, he tried it again—then realized again there was no way for him to have heard it.

"This sucks." He said to himself. He leaned down, feeling the engine. It was vibrating, perhaps working. He straddled the seat and worked the ignition, twisted the handle bar and got it in gear. He was happy when it moved, stuttering, but it was running.

He drove it over to Steve first. This was going to look like one of the strangest things rolling through the Egyptian desert, but if it got them out of the kill zone, Clint was sure it didn't matter. It took a while to lug Rodgers up and into the side car, but eventually he fit. Next went Tony's suit. That was piled around Steve in the car.

Tony was not going to fit on top of everything thing else, so Clint devised a simple method to keep him on the bike. Tony was arranged limply at Clint's back, his hands cuffed together with zip ties around Clint's middle. So, with one hand holding Tony close, the other used to steer, Clint got them out of the red zone before the bomb began to drop.

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so i'll post the next update maybe tomorrow. I'm starting to get a hold of a beta who will rough out the edges on my grammar:)

What do Bagel's have to do with this story? Don't worry-you will find out. And after reading it, me and my friends decide to have our own Bagel Thursday's from now on!

Please Review!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:**_ not much to say tonight. Oh, if you are looking for some original stories, check out WinterQuill on Writer Cafe.- she's me:)__  
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**Bagel Thursday**

_PeechTao_

_Chapter 4_

"Clint, we're here." Natasha said, pulling into the underground driveway just outside Jerusalem. She flicked her head over to her sleeping companion to see he had yet to stir. He must have been exhausted having slept the entire way. She reached over and touched his arm, causing him to shoot up in his seat on instant alert. Behind him Tony laughed.

"I said we're here." She repeated.

"Oh, I didn't realize we got here already." Clint commented. He rubbed his eyes and tucked his feet back onto the floorboards.

"I thought you were dead." Tony said. "I did make the comment that dead bodies should ride outside the car, but no one took it as a seriously as I would have."

"Pass security already?" Clint asked.

"Twice." Natasha replied. "Tony gave them a fuss. He was bored."

Clint smiled. "Big surprise."

"Is it my fault they didn't ask me for an ID? What kind of security check point is that?" Stark interjected.

"Tony, I don't think you ever need an ID. Your face is just so—" Steve tried for a word on the tip of his tongue.

"Memorable? Talented? Huggable? Sexy?"

"Annoying." Natasha supplied. They pulled into a parking slot and one by one everyone unfolded from the car.

"So when can we get a ride out of this place?" Steve asked. "Barton, planning on flying us out for a nice weekend after all that hard work?"

Before Clint had a chance to respond, the elevator door opened to the far left of the underground parking lot. Bruce Banner stood waiting to collect them. He waved a hello and held the doors. When everyone was on, they headed up to the debriefing room.

"Well, everyone's walking." Bruce mentioned. "Came down expecting at least one of you on their backs."

"I would have told you when I texted." Stark replied. "Oh, but I forgot Captain Flagpole."

"It wasn't bad." Steve said before Banner pounced on him. "Clint patched me up, mostly healed already."

"Oh Clint's doing my job now?"

The elevator doors opened and they walked out into the small hallway. At the end meeting room waited with its door open. A holographic rendition of Director Fury hovered in the center display. Save the sheen of green and blue hues that made him up, it was as if the director himself was standing there waiting for them. His hands were on his hips, exposing the berretta strapped to his leg. If anyone thought he looked happy, then they didn't know him very well.

_"Cause enough of a bang there, team?"_ He asked. _"Looks like you had so much fun, I should have shown up with a box of TNT and started the after party myself."_

Tony instantly pointed a finger at Clint. "I was unconscious, he blew the place up."

Clint whipped his head around at him. "What?"

"Tony, you were the first one to throw a rocket at them." Steve said.

"And they sent an RPG back, and look where that leads." Tony turned back to the hologram. "See, violence just leads to more violence, I've been saying that for years. Not my fault you didn't listen."

Clint was looking frantically between them, trying to catch up on what he was being blamed for.

_"Stark—"_

"You look striking in blue by the way." Tony added.

"We were supposed to find the outpost and paint it for bomb drop." Steve said. "So we had to blow a few things up beforehand, still got the job done."

"Yeah, and we almost died. That counts for like, ten bonus points." Tony said.

"I didn't blow anything up." Natasha commented, shrugging.

"Suck up!"

The director's hands went out to stop the little infighting. _"All right! Stop squawking like a couple of love birds before I decide to leave you there and send out a tweet that the Avengers are hanging around outside Jerusalem. I bet you'd love a little attention like that, Stark." _Tony had to think about that just long enough for Fury to go on without interruption. _"I had a jet landing on the Gaza airstrip in three hours, but given the heat of that little show, you've been reduced to commercial flights instead. I'll fax the boarding passes when Hill finishes getting the best deal online. And if you were about to ask whether or not I'm reserving you a Business seat, then don't press your luck._" Fury cut the transmission and they were left in the dark of the quiet meeting room.

"Do you think that because his name is Fury he feels destined to live up to it?" Tony asked. "And I brought a credit card, so I am totally upgrading."

**_CLINT_**

While pretending to sleep for the first twenty minutes of the journey was easy, maintaining the rouse was boarding on torture. Clint had no idea what was happening round him, he didn't dare open his eyes should Natasha catch him in the act, and the desire to kick Tony's teeth in was nearing the breaking point. Clint did his best to go slack, but his resolve was breaking down by the minute. He had no concept of time. He had no idea where he was, he couldn't see, and he couldn't hear anything either. This had started out as a great idea to keep him from having to get caught up in a conversation he couldn't lip-read himself through, now it was agony.

There were so many questions he wanted the answers to. Exactly what happened? Was he fixable? Was this temporary? Was he going to just wake up one morning and be fine? Overwhelming his senses the likelihood of him being well and dandy by noon time was a nonexistent pipe dream. He could hope for the best, but actually getting the news that he would not be deaf for the remainder of his natural life was unlikely. But Clint did need that news. He had to have someone else's opinion on this that wasn't going to leave a paper trail, or alert any of the SHIELD higher ups. Tony was a likely choice. He had enough money to buy out any private doctor he wanted but was SHIELD monitoring those off shore accounts? Most likely. Steve had no experience in the medical field beside battlefield triage. So when things boiled down Clint had only one option, and that was Banner. Did he trust himself enough to tell the others about it? Maybe at some point. Until he knew himself the full scale of what was happening to him, Clint didn't want to worry them.

He sat, he stewed, and he thought. He probed the few noises filtering through his mind. One was a dull thump. The blood pulsing behind his ears. The other was a small ring, high pitched but not overwhelming. He'd experienced a bout of tinnitus after the New York attack and this sounded similar to that. He wondered if this would stay with him like a bad memory for the next few weeks or if it would be there forever.

They arrived at the underground garage just outside the city's edge of Jerusalem. It was already dark, few stars dotted out from beneath haze of clouds setting in from the north. Parts of Clint mind had begun shutting down after so long of pretending to be fast asleep. When someone reached out and grabbed his arm, he couldn't help the sudden reaction. His face turned directly to Natasha, a look of concern on it. Her lips moved fast, her face half turned away at the end, making him miss most of what she said. This was going to be a pain in the neck trying to lip read when everyone kept looking away from him. But what could he do? If he planned to keep the disability a secret he was just going to have to adapt. He decided that trying to whisper was probably his best recourse for actual speech. Without knowing the volume his voice was coming out as it was easier to pretend to whisper and hope his voice was somewhere between low and normal.

Banner was on the elevator already. Clint never realized what a relief it would be just to see the doctor until that moment. He almost kissed him! Meeting with Fury. Hologram instead of video which made lip reading, again, nearly impossible. Tony might have been excited about all his new teckie projects, but this one in particular had Clint thinking terrible thoughts about his friend. The meeting ended. Tony, most likely complaining. Head thrown back. Laughing. Steve's mouth moving, head turned away. Natasha hidden behind her hair, and Clint, leaning against the table, having no idea at all what was going on. He had to get out of that room immediately before he lost his mind.

"Don't know about you, but I'm filthy, dehydrated, and hungry. I'm going to go shower in the sink and find a snickers." Clint nodded toward Banner. "Show me around?"

Banner shrugged and led the way. No one else seemed to follow. After reaching the elevator again, Banner tapped the button for another floor. Clint had to turn in place a few times to be sure they hadn't any extra passengers, and then he took his opportunity. He pulled the emergency stop button on the elevator. He could tell Banner was shocked, saying something, but he didn't know what it was.

"Bruce, look. I need to tell you something important. SHIELD can't know. This is elevator shouldn't be bugged. I know, I've been here often enough. Oh, and I lied about that."

"What is ghsjebrb." Bruce was speaking to fast to follow, but Clint cut him off.

"Bruce, you've got to listen to me, all right? You cannot tell SHIELD, you cannot tell the others. Understand? Not until I know what's going on. Ok?"

"Clint, what are you talking about?"

"I'm deaf."

Bruce cocked his head to one side. He blinked. Then he began shaking his head. "No, no come on. You're just trying to- Did Tony put you up to this?"

Clint grabbed the doctor by the shoulders. He looked him dead in the eyes. "Bruce, I ate a sonic arrow to deafen my ears. We were going to die. Tony and Steve do not know. You are not going to tell them. Do you understand me?"

Suddenly a little light flickered through Bruce's eyes. "Oh my God."

Clint nodded.

"Oh my God, Clint are you... are you really?"

"Yes."

Bruce took in a large breath weighing how the new hit him. He released the elevator button and the machine began to move. He turned to Clint again.

"You can read lips?"

"When I'm looking at them."

"Ok." Clint watched Bruce's mind tumble around the news. He was smart, a science guy but more than that he was Bruce Banner. Bruce knew exctly what this meant to Clint and the agent's station in life. Bruce had experience hiding things. He was almost as much of an expert in espionage as Natasha. He'd traveled the globe, gone undetected in enemy territory, and survived some of the most impressive attempts on any one man's life. The more Clint watched Bruces mind work, the more he came to understand how good of a decision he made by recruiting the doctor in on his little secret. after a minute of thought, Bruce was ready with his newly hatched plan.

"We're going to go to the fourth floor. Get you cleaned up. I'm going to take a quick look at you in the bathroom. We'll lock the door just in case anyone walks in. Stay close to me. When someone starts talking to you, I'll give you a signal. Natasha," Banner tapped Clint's right hand. "Tony." he tapped the left hand. "Steve." their left shoes touched. "We won't worry about the others for now. Thor's still away."

"Left, Tony, left Steve, right Natasha." Clint repeated.

"If you're speaking too loud, I'll touch your elbow."

"Got it."

"Let's go."

The elevator door opened and they walked out together. The restroom was on the left side of the hall. Banner was laughing, he shoved Clint toward the door. They walked into the restroom and the door shut behind them. Banner pointed Clint toward the sink. Barton hoisted himself up like a kid at a doctor's appointment and sat there with his hands folded in his lap. Banner flicked the lock on the door and walked over. He turned Clint's head to one side and looked first into one canal, and then the other. Clint opened his mouth, revealing some minor abrasions against his tongue and cheeks. Bruce tilted his head, testing for dizziness, vertigo, or any other issues with the intricate workings of his inner ear. Having passed those, Bruce stood back.

"Clint, I can't see anything external. I need some gear to better diagnose what's going on. There's blood in your ear canals. Were they bleeding before?"

"Yeah, right after. I didn't know if it was from the attack or the arrow."

"Maybe both. Fact is I need instruments to know for sure. When we get back to the Tower I can fabricate some stuff from the lab. Give me by tomorrow morning. I should have some answers then. Do you hear anything? tinnitus?"

"A small ring, or buzz. Thumping."

"Ok. Did you understand anything Fury went over?"

"No."

Banner filled him in. They were going to leave once the tickets arrived. Tony was already working on getting his own upgraded seats. Besides that, there was nothing he missed.

"Any other questions for now?"

Clint got down from the sink, shaking his head. "No, I don't. Look, Bruce, I don't mean to drag you through all this, it's just... If Fury finds out about this, after New York, I just, I don't think-"

Bruce put a hand on his shoulder. Clint turned to look at him.

"It's fine. 'Sides, Tony always says I need a little excitement in my life. Haven't been on the run for a while, be nice to have a few secrets again."

Clint wasn't sure how he felt about that as an answer, but it was something at least. and he had help now. Bruce instructed him to laugh while exiting the restroom, something for the hidden security cameras to pick up if they happened to exist. The idea brought out another hidden signal. Bruce would tug Clint's finger if he was required to laugh. They made the turn up the left hall and headed for the snack machines. When they arrived, Tony was already there with something remotely digital and definitely home maid in his hand. Apparently it was rewiring the digital readout on the food machine which made everything free. Clint felt the tap on his left hand. He directed his attention to Tony and tried to read his fast-moving lip service. He got the gist of the conversation. Tony was smart, technology was stupid, and did Clint want a free snickers bar?

"Sure, but if you're giving me an option I'll take two. Need something for the flight." Clint replied when it seemed appropriate.

Tony extracted two from the machine and handed them over. Another tap from Bruce. Tony's face was turned away and Clint couldn't tell what he was saying, but at least he knew something was coming out of Stark. Clint decided to keep his inability to reply under wraps by stuffing his face with a candy bar. When Tony turned around, it was apparent the split second decision was a good one.

Tony smiled. "Glad I could save the day from your undernourishment. Plane in thirty, you coming or hanging here in desert land hoping for round two?"

Clint chewed, swallowed. "You kidding? After dragging Steve and you through the sand I've had enough for a few years."

Tony started down to the stairs with Clint and Banner following. If the plane left in half an hour, it gave them virtually no time to get to the airport, checked in, and onto the flight itself. Fury must have been just as upset as he looked.

Getting into the garage, they noticed Steve and Natasha were waiting in the car already. That left the sticky back seat for Clint, Tony, and Bruce to squeeze into. At least that meant Clint didn't have to ride with his eyes shut the whole time. Now that he had Bruce, keeping up on a conversation was going to be a little easier. Bruce took the window seat, Clint sat in the middle and Tony took the rest of the middle, his seat, and hung halfway out the window. He had his phone going nonstop between Pepper and he and peripheral conversation was relatively void. Natasha directed a few words back to Clint, which Banner helped him know how to respond to with a private text message to his phone. Afterward, Banner took his phone, switched the ringer to vibrate, and gave it back. Clint texted a thank you.

They arrived at the airport, late. Tony harped a fit. The plane had yet to actually take off, which meant they could technically still wheel it back to the gate in order that Tony Stark (and sure, why not the others?) could then board appropriately. While Steve may have objected to inconveniencing just about everyone on that flight except themselves, he wasn't about to be left behind in Jerusalem. And given the next flight had twelve hour layover, he was even more disinclined to protest Stark's eccentricity.

They waited, they boarded, and with Tony sitting high in the Business Class they were on their way home.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed! more to come soon! and after a little inspiration from Squirrel the Man, i've added an extra bit to the middle of this story where Clint is forced into a mission with a new agent when he returns to the Tower. the scene gets a little dark! So i may have to change the rating for that scene, but don't worry, nothing explicit, im just not that way.

-Please review!


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:**_ thi is a shorter, more boring couple chapters so decided to combine them and post them quicker__  
_

* * *

**Bagel Thursday**

_PeechTao_

_Chapter 5  
_

Tony found Bruce working late in the lab the first night coming in from Jerusalem. Given that he'd just spent a week in Israel perfecting a new plasma array, whatever breakthrough he must have had there most likely spilled over to his work in the US. Tony knew well when Bruce was on a role, there was little that could stop him.

"So, you gonna show me that new destroy-the-meter toy yet? Because, you know, we're all ready for Armageddon to come true and Bruce Willis to save us all. If you don't step up, he's taking all the glory."

Bruce snickered. "Uh, huh. You've told me. This is a different project."

"Oh, running two things concurrently." Tony approached, looking over Banner shoulder at all the schematics. Experience told him he was now staring at a three dimensional digital breakdown of a microscope. Bruce's microscope to be exact. To the left was a new construction. It was multilayered and infused with new bits and pieces not a part of the original design. If Tony was correct, and he always was, there was a new micro camera he was installing to the end of his microscope and then he was changing the microscope to a hand held, slimmer design.

"Fascinating. What's it for? Photographing a cell analysis?"

"Something like that." Bruce said. "My cells are still adjusting, evolving. I need a way to record that in a more personal level that way I can stop taking daily samples myself. Just doing a few alterations to make things easier."

Stark shrugged. "Cellular study's going to need better microscopy then what you've got. You can break down the electron microscope. We've got two. The crystals will be better and the lens is a more manageable shape."

Bruce looked over, shrugging. "Yeah, not a bad plan. I'll use that."

"Looks like you've got most of the assembly plans done already. Do you need a hand for the fine work?"

"Nah, I'm still playing with it at this point. There's no real rush. You're welcome to tinker with those plans on the plasma array's reactor. I sent them to your work desk."

Like a child handed a gift, Tony went bounding over to his digital table and brought up the designs. Working out the kinks Bruce had manually installed on the reactor core might take Tony a little while to find, even longer to correct. It bought Bruce a few hours at least to finish the fabrication on his hand made ophthalmoscope. With the camera installed at the end, he'd be able to record a few images then instantly check Stark's private server to compare his diagnosis with similar clinical cases.

By morning he was finished and Tony had encountered only four of the seven overriding mathematical anomalies Bruce had built in to his reactor. By the time Bruce left for a morning break Tony was still working on.

:():

Without Banner at his arm to keep him on tack, Clint spent most of his time back at the Tower either hiding in his room (not abnormal), on the pinnacle of the radio Tower (almost expected) or in the R and D shooting range practicing with a firearm. Granted the last was the most atypical of all his behavior, but at least it gave him the chance to wear ear phones without looking strange. A second ploy was his over stated use of his iPod and the headphones always in his ears. He could blame his inattention to others on his outrageously high music. It took him a little while to adjust the volume right, but after plugging them into a set of speakers and cranking it up until they vibrated, he figured he had the appearance good enough. Dinner usually meant a chance for him to be found on the counter, on the cabinets, perched on the back of a sofa, or on the top of the fridge. He decided to avoid public appearance by friends he'd head out for dinner.

His mind must have been malfunctioning to think it was a good idea to venture through the New York streets with a sudden onset of deafness. The culture shock alone was enough to send him running back into the Stark Tower lobby.

For his own health, Clint went no farther than a block from the Tower base, but even that nearly proved his own death. A car he didn't hear coming rushed through an intersection, Clint could see the driver cursing and gesturing as he spun out of the way. A mounted police man came close to taking Clint to the station after a heated exchange about sidewalk safety. Ordering something at Subway? That was its own demon. This was a challenge in patience and sanity, one that he was very quickly losing. He gave a twenty to the sub shop, telling them to keep the change. He hoped it was enough, then escaped the place to head back home. Another busy street. The press of bodies with an overwhelming silence. An old woman pulled Clint out of the way of a speeding fire truck. Another near hit by car. The front doors to the Tower at last and Clint rushed inside. If he had it his way, he'd never leave those walls again.

Happy half stood behind the security booth, so Clint displayed his S-7 level badge for him. Happy liked to give him a hard time on purpose. He always took his job very seriously, but now with the Avengers around, that definition took on a whole new meaning. As for the safety features to reach the Avengers wing of the Tower? That too had taken an upgrade.

Clint passed around the security booth, scanned his hand on the available pad and entered the private elevator. He took the elevator up five floors, stopped before he got to the sixth and pulled the emergency stop button. He accessed a hidden keypad behind the emergency call pad, typed in his personal access code and stepped through the new doorway that opened. The second elevator was already there waiting for him. A retinal scan and another security code later, and Clint was heading up to the Tower proper.

He waved absently to Steve in the living room and headed over to his balcony to eat. At least New York was safer from a great height and distance away. It was the last time he'd be seen for the rest of the night.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed! more to come soon! and after a little inspiration from Squirrel the Man, i've added an extra bit to the middle of this story where Clint is forced into a mission with a new agent when he returns to the Tower. the scene gets a little dark! So i may have to change the rating for that scene, but don't worry, nothing explicit, im just not that way.

-Please review!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:**_ ok, so this chapter was totally written before the guest review about cochlear implants. LOL! most of this medical info i've sort of spliced together. as a doggy doctor we dont do anything with implants for dogs or in depth hearing tests unless you're super specialist...which i'm not!__  
_

_Oh- Subway pricing is totally my bad! I live on an island where the currency is in EC, so getting anything from subway costs nothing less that $20 (in EC...) so yes, American pricing, $5.00 US foot long... will try to remember that!  
_

* * *

**Bagel Thursday**

_PeechTao_

_Chapter 6  
_

It was a strange sensation to have his bed suddenly start shaking in the middle of the night. Clint figured Tony was probably standing over him in an attempt to get his attention. Clint opened his eyes to see who was there, but was surprised to instead find Bruce. Bruce waved, pointed to the light, and turned it on when Clint agreed it was all right to.

"What's up?" Clint asked.

Bruce tapped his elbow, Clint lowered his volume.

"I finished the scope. I figured I could take a look at you tonight if you want. I have a few tests we can try and those will give us a better idea of what happened. Do you want to do this now, or wait?"

"I'm awake now, yeah, let's get it over with."

Bruce figured that would be his answer, so he laid a few things out on the desk and arranged his Stark database interface while Clint shook the sleep away.

"That was a good idea moving the bed." Clint told him. "Didn't freak me out like when people just sneak up and grab me."

Bruce nodded understandably. When he finished arranging the objects on Clint's desk he pulled the chair out and motion for Clint to walk over. The archer sat, and waited as Bruce faced him to explain what was going to happen.

"First I made up a scope. There's a camera on the end. I'm not an expert at brain scans, well, actually I am an expert at brain scans, just not an ear guy. This is hooked up onto my privately encrypted access to Stark's also very privately encrypted database. Whatever I find will be loaded onto the server, researched within twenty minutes, and similar case examples will be downloaded here for me to read. While that is downloading, I have a separate file with a standard hearing test. We'll go through that and based on the results I can tell what degree of hearing loss you have, Ok? All of this will give us a better idea of where to go from here. I've designed a new type of 3D imager, we'll do that too."

"I got it." Clint said. "Although I feel like a kindergartener I have to say."

"Don't worry, I won't tell Tony you feel that way." Bruce said smiling. As he finished setting the equipment, Clint looked around his darkened room. He noticed a towel pressed under his door, preventing the light from shining beneath into the hallway. When Bruce wanted to hide something, he was good at it.

"It's almost like you've done this before." Clint said.

Bruce's body moved as if it was laughing but he didn't reply that Clint knew. The scope was ready, so Clint remained as still as possible for what the results were going to show.

There was computer screen facing him. At certain intervals the image from inside his skull would freeze, disintegrate, and a load bar would be added to the bottom of the screen. Clint had a very rough knowledge of the inner ear. Enough to know if he clapped his hand hard enough against someone's skull it would rupture their eardrum. He waited to see that little membrane, but mostly the screen was clouded by the dark look of blood stuck in the canals. Bruce had expected this potential problem and had a tool ready for that as well. It felt like Clint was having someone picking through his brain, but at least the result was desired. Even on the second go, that little membrane he expected to see never appeared.

_Ruptured eardrum_. Clint thought. A few more screens captures, then the process repeated on the other side. When the second was finished, Bruce tapped a few keys on the keyboard and the system took over. The load bar returned and it became a waiting game.

Bruce grabbed his second medieval device and displayed it for Clint to see.

"This is a variation of Tony's 3D scanner he got off of Aldrich Killian except I've modified it. Now if you're about to go running for a lead apron, don't worry. There no serious radiation. Given my history, exposing myself to any is not exactly a good idea. This will give me an internal scan of your inner ear. All you have to do is stay still."

Clint did as he was instructed. Bruce set the device on the table attached to a tripod. A green laser scanned his face head on from left to right, then top to bottom. Clint then sat sideways and repeated the scan. After sitting to the opposite side as well, the scan was complete.

Bruce handed Clint a set of large earphones then explained the third part of the test.

"I'm going to play a series of tones, they change in decibels from low like a whisper to high like an air horn. I'm going to stand behind you so you can't cheat. When you hear a sound, any sound at any time, raise your hand. We're going to follow this time." Bruce placed his digital tablet in a cradle in front of Clint and the computer monitor. "Three minutes. When this time is up, it will restart. The second time I will test first your left ear, then the right ear. Three minutes, three minutes, three minutes, all the same sound range. Ready to start?"

Clint nodded his head. Bruce started the timer, then stood out of sight at Clint's back. Clint sat there in the silence, waiting and willing himself to hear anything beside the small ever present buzz in the back of his mind. He waited, watching that time tick closer and closer to zero, and all the while hearing nothing. His desperation was becoming near palpable. He almost imagine hearing a noise, but he knew there was nothing.

60 seconds left.

Clint was deaf. Totally deaf and he was going to be stuck that way for the rest of his life. He wanted to pull the earphones off, toss them across the room. He wanted to scream.

45 seconds. Still nothing. His heart was racing. His face flushed red. His chest hurt. This was pointless, useless. It was over. His life was over.

**_THUD!_**

The sound was so unexpected, Clint almost shot out of his chair. At the last moment he remembered to raise his hand.

A few seconds later, another thud. Clint raised his hand, almost giddy now. He waited in the dark, watching the time tick down and the sounds coming in with more and more regularity. Five seconds, sound. He heard it. Five more seconds, sound, he heard that one too. Five more seconds...

The clock wound down and after a brief pause began again. Clint focused on his right ear, waiting to see when the first sounds reached it. It was just passed fifty seconds, then every five seconds after that until the clock ran down. Now it went to his left ear. The same effect. Clint could hear, it was faint, but it was there. If it was there, he had hope didn't he? He could get better, right? When the clock went to zero the third time, Clint was desperate to see Bruce's reaction. The doctor was smiling, which did wonders to ease his mind.

"Great," Bruce said. "You are getting some higher decibels. I have to check to see what level of hearing loss you're considered, but it's a good place to start."

"Makes me feel better." Clint said.

The computer search popped up with a series of results. Bruce leaned over the desk to rifle through them, comparing case photos with the originals taken during Clint's exam. Clint and Bruce both saw the same image nearly simultaneously. Bruce pulled the information up, but that's where things took a turn for the worse. The title of the research article was _"Inability of full Recovery From Patient Suffering Severe Inner Trauma as result of Sound Wave Frequencies."_

Clint gulped, and fought through the medical jargon thrown around the page. His own case history was highlighted in corresponding points with the article. JARVIS did a full photo comparison, circling the page matches in the process. By the third page of solid text, Clint's brain was beginning to hurt and his eyes crossed. He waited for Bruce to explain the results.

After the first match, Bruce went on to read about the second. Even the title was fairly similar. _"Irreversible Hearing Loss in Patient with Aural Trauma"._ Then a third, words rearranged, but title the same. The only part Clint was hanging on was the title that plainly read _"Irreversible"._

When Bruce finished, he didn't explain the news right away. Instead he opened another search pane and inputted the information from the hearing test. A percentage appeared in the panel. He did another search, now including the clinical findings, the percentage, and cause. It was the longest wait in Clint's life. He couldn't sit in the chair, thinking over what he was missing, so he got up instead and paced.

After nearly an hour of carefully arranging his thoughts Bruce waived Clint over, at last ready to share the findings.

"First things first, you are not 100% deaf. According to the results you have what's considered a severe hearing loss of around 80%. What that means is very high, loud sounds you are able to hear, like sirens, or someone slamming a door. Now, as for the actual damage I really don't have the news that I wanted. You're eardrums on both sides were ruptured. Many people have suffered that and it will heal on its own in a few months. But you have something a little more complicated than that. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Clint nodded a little. "I have 80% hearing loss in both ears. I have ruptured ear drums. They'll get better on their own, but that's not my only issue."

"You have damage to the bones in your ears. There's three of them. The first one holds onto the eardrum, and that's been detached on both sides. The second and third bones were also fractured. All research says that the bones themselves and the eardrum will all heal on their own, typically. We'll have to recheck you periodically to make sure. The brain scan itself," Bruce accessed the 3D template and enlarged it. An image of Clint's inner ear floated in the air between them. Bruce pulled away multiple layer, blew up the image, and pointed out the area of concern. There was a curved image, small hairs floated back and forth in space, but those hairs were few and far between. Clint had the impression they were very important.

"Besides the fractures and the ear drums, this is the primary issue. These transmit sound. You can't send sound without them. The arrow, or even the sonic device, damaged and removed most of them. They don't grow back. You can't implant more. What's there was there, but now yours are markedly decreased. This isn't something I, or anyone, can fix. Have ever seen cochlear implants?"

Clint was having trouble processing everything Bruce was telling him. Even though he was speaking slowly, clearly indicating every word so that Clint could follow the movements of his mouth, the weight of what they were discussing was almost too much to bear. He reached a hand out for a second to stop him.

"Wa-wait. Just let me, I," He closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead. "So, I'm screwed up. Like, no going back. No getting better. This is it for me. Is that what you're saying?" He knew without hearing it his voice was raised, panicked. That fear that crept on him before hit again now. His breath was thready as his body felt like it was about to pass out.

But Bruce somehow managed to cut through his panic. He placed his hands on Clint's shoulders, and Clint stopped. He looked at Bruce.

"Clint, it's going to be ok. Smart men, a long time ago, made things to help with this exact issue. Now you have one better. You have me, and an entire ten floors of cutting edge technology. And if, **IF** **SOMEHOW** I can't figure it out, _which would be ridiculous_, I can ask Tony Stark to help. He is one of the _foremost_ experts on biomedical engineering. Do you understand?"

Clint nodded a little.

"Ok. Now we know the problem. Give me by this afternoon and I'll have the first stage in the solution."

"Bruce?"

Bruce waved him off. "Don't worry about it. Clint, I've got this."

:(:):(:):

Clint lay awake for the rest of the morning, considering all the things he'd just learned. Part of him wanted to feel sorry for himself. Another part was angry, in pain, and frustrated. But still the last of him, the part he held most tightly to was the one where Bruce Banner was helping him. He wasn't in this alone. He had a light at the end of this tunnel and he was going to figure this out. Clint thought about that part of himself for a long while as the sun came up over the city. He knew today he'd have to make an appearance, a good one, so the others wouldn't catch on to his reclusiveness. He was concerned that Natasha would have overhead his and Bruce's midnight testing, but that wasn't to be helped. He knew she'd keep whatever findings she came across to herself until Clint was ready to share the news with her. That too would have to come at some point.

He almost dreaded that. The look he'd receive from Tony, the pity from Steve, the motherly smother by Pepper and the betrayal by Natasha. Clint knew his friends, knew them well enough to predict exactly how this news was going to hit them. In a word: it would be devastating. He couldn't do that to them yet. If nothing else he had the power to delay the inevitable. He wanted to be able to say: _Yeah, I'm deaf, but Banner fixed it, so were good_. Until he had that little assurance he was keeping silent.

He showered, taking special care to protect his ears the way Bruce had instructed him in the night. Somehow the doctor was going to get a hold of some medicated ear drops. How Clint didn't know, but he trusted Bruce with everything now.

He toweled off, changed, and went out to face the day.

It was nearing eight, long passed the time he typically slept in. If Tony worked late in the lab he wouldn't be expected in the kitchen for another few hours. If He'd stayed up all night in the lab he'd be looking for dinner and breakfast combined.

"Yo Bird." Tony said as Clint entered the kitchen. Steve was in the sitting room to the left, enjoying the entire couch to himself and whatever morning news came on. The explosion outside Israel made all the top headlines. Apparently no government agency had taken credit as yet, but there was mention that a terrorist militant group was ready to step up to the blame if it meant a little publicity. Natasha was sitting at the kitchen island with a bowl of fruit and whip cream. Tony had a bag of Doritos, chlorophyll power shake, a cliff bar, and a left over burrito.

"Breakfast of champions?" Clint asked.

"Well, if Dr. Banner didn't require so much help with that plasma array last night and-" Tony's voice trailed off as he walked away. Clint watched the back of his head, the little subtle body movements, and assumed when Tony was finished talking.

"Have fun with that." Clint said, hoping the answer was somewhat appropriate. He went into the fridge and pulled out a carton of milk which he added to a bowel of shredded wheat and sugar. He baked the mixture in the microwave, conveniently located high enough for him to not feel strange about scaling the counter, sitting on the fridge, and waiting for it to finish. From his new vantage point and breakfast in hand he had a great look at everyone in the room. A mirror on the wall to the right of the television gave Clint a good view of Steve and Tony as well. Natasha was already facing him, finishing her bowl.

So maybe this was what life was going to be like. Sitting there in the morning, watching the TV, the people he knew, life walking by him without totally being a part of it. Clint was never really one to talk to himself, but since losing his hearing only two days before, he was now involved in intricate conversations with himself. He asked himself what Tony was saying, he made up his own reply. Part of him sent a reminder to look at Natasha. She was saying something to him now, the end of which he caught.

"-reefing tonight."

He gave her a puzzled, but comical look. "I have no idea what you just said to me."

She tilted her head in annoyance. "Absentminded. You've got the attention span of a toddler, I swear."

"Never seems to bother you."

"You say that but you know it does. I said that the new mission briefing was supposed to be coming over tonight. I got a call from Agent Clarkson, the one who took over our division after Coulson."

"Clarkson took over?" Clint exclaimed in disbelief.

"Clint, you knew that! I _just_ said he did and Director-"

"I know Director Fury mentioned it last week, but I didn't think he was actually serious. Clarkson can't even find the Georgian border on a map."

"Well, we don't get a say. He had a mission file supposedly coming over for the two of us, but given the heat I'm under from Cairo, and your exploits in the desert, it seems he doesn't want to touch us. He's giving the case to that blonde CIA import. There is something brewing in Baltimore but he didn't mention anything further to me. You?"

Clint shook head. He continued eating, sitting back against the cabinet with his legs folded. "Bad idea on the blonde. I don't even know the mission. Doesn't matter the mission. Giving anything to that CIA drop in rookie is just bad. She going alone?"

"I think Clarkson was looking for volunteers."

"Girls night?"

"He wasn't about to ask you if that's your question. He knows what you do to women. Especially the new ones."

Clint laughed. "Ok, you have got to let that go. And I did apologize."

"It was her first op. Ever. And you just had to show her a thing or two."

"I told her not to follow me."

"But she did, because you are you and they just can't help themselves."

"Right off that fourth floor." Clint reminisced. "Granted that ledge was small even for my standards, but when I tell someone I am doing recon and to stay put generally I think they are going to do what I say, not follow after me trying to prove something and then fall four stories."

Natasha smiled and went back to her breakfast. Clint continued to eat his cereal while enjoying his little moment of normalcy. He knew not all conversations were going to go that easy, but at least he'd gotten one hard back and forth out of the way. He hoped it left Natasha none the wiser. After all, she was going to be his toughest critic.

Banner drifted up from the elevator and levels of R n D. He'd been working throughout the night on his little side project. Clint didn't know exactly what that entitled him to do, but again he didn't really want to know. He offered a small wave at the doctor's entry.

Bruce smiled. "Morning kids." He went to the fridge, smacking Clint's leg out of the way in order to get in. He and Barton shared a little private smile and Bruce assembled himself an array of eats not dissimilar to Tony's.

"Staying perched up there all morning?" Bruce asked Clint.

Now that his signalman had arrived, Clint felt at ease to get down. He followed Bruce and his snacks out to the living room where instead Clint parked on the top of the couch. Bruce sat directly beside him and together they watched the morning news. Clint was thankful for the scrolling bars at the bottom of the screen, at least they kept him up to date on what was being discussed. Periodically Bruce would give him a discreet tap, depending on which Avenger was addressing him. Clint would look over, respond, then the game would begin again. By the time the nine-o-clock hour began, Bruce and Clint had perfected their art of signaling.

"How's that pet project coming?" Tony asked Bruce.

"Coming." Bruce said. "Got most of the early phase finished. Now I'm just finishing the secondary work. How about those theoretically anomalies in the plasma core? Figure them out?"

Tony dropped his head back in a sign of exhaustion. "Did I? Yes. All but two other anomalies that have rerouted the drive capacitor from working at maximum. You had some pivotal, but highly sophisticated, errors in that drive. Whatever you screwed up was almost poetically compiled."

Bruce smiled inwardly at his good work. "You don't say? I don't know how many times I de-formulated to the theoretical basics and still didn't come up with any intrinsic errors to the infrastructure. Where did you find them?"

"That was the problem, they weren't individualized, and they were building on each other. The two errors were found when running the theory through the first set of-"

Clint stopped trying to read the conversation when Tony used words so large and meaningless he couldn't properly pronounce them in his mind. He stayed in the group for what seemed like a reasonable period of time and eventually filtered out after the intensely mathematical conversation wore thin against both Steve and him. They left together, split paths in the hall, and Clint headed out his window to spend some quality time alone on the radio tower. Or he would have, if his phone didn't suddenly come to life in his pocket.

Clint pulled it out to check the number. SHIELD. Specifically Special Agent Clarkson. There was no way Clint could actually answer the phone and expect to know what was going on. He did the next best thing. He answered it, hung up, then texted the number.

_"Area non-secure."_ Typical agent jargon for Clint's inability to talk.

"_Trouble in Baltimore. Sending address and mission brief. Meet Agent Morrison_." Came the reply.

Well, crap. Clint stuffed the phone back in his pocket. Now if that wasn't just about the worst news he could receive. Clarkson called him that meant that Natasha was not to be involved. He was in this for himself.

* * *

just for a little clarification: any time Clint's having a "conversation" with someone, he's reading their lips. it gets repetitive to constantly type that:)

-what's coming up next was inspired by Squirrel the Man's challenge! Please review!


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **some excitement! next chapter gets a little hairy, but as i said only implications nothing explicit!_  
_

* * *

**Bagel Thursday**

_PeechTao_

_Chapter 7  
_

Clint went to his room to grab his gear. He didn't know how he was planning to keep another senior agent from figuring out he was deaf, but at least he had a long train ride to figure that out. If another agent learned he was damaged goods before Bruce had the chance to fix him, and if anyone found out before Natasha did he was destined to pay dearly for it. Also Barton knew he couldn't just disappear without someone getting concerned. After putting together a small mission pack he returned to the living room to see Tony and Bruce. Natasha had wandered away.

"Got a call from SHIELD, I'm heading out. Don't know when I'll be back in so don't wait up, ladies." He said offhandedly.

"That quick? I thought Fury neutered you and made you a house dog." Tony replied.

"That's so funny I'm not laughing." Clint said.

"Hang on, Clint, I'll head down with you. Coming Tony, or are you enjoying a moment away from particle arrays?" Bruce got off the couch and headed for the hall with Clint beside him. Given the option to relax for a while longer, Tony took it. Bruce was happy because that's how he planned it. Clint and he were both ready for another hurried elevator talk.

"I got the call just now, I had to text him back." Clint explained. "I'm meeting another agent there."

"Fine, don't panic. But you have to realize this is serious. I don't know where you're going or what you're doing but Clint, Let's be honest you are not one hundred percent!"

"If I refuse this then that's it for me!" Clint exclaimed. "You don't get it, I can't refuse a mission. First I'll be asked why. Second, right after I tell them I'm officially deaf, Director Fury with higher out a hitman to murder me in my sleep."

Bruce gave him a look. "Really? A hitman?"

"Have you ever heard of Agent John Tracy? His codename was Eagle, he was the marksman before me and do you want to know why you have never, ever, heard of him?"

Bruce shrugged.

"Because he went blind on a mission and he was poisoned at a bar three days later. Bruce, I don't want to be poisoned in a bar! Agents do not retire in this profession Bruce. We know too much, we get killed."

Bruce waved at him. "All right, all right. You know what you need to do to get through a basic mission and you don't have to hear for that. Have you worked with the agent before?"

"No."

Bruce nodded. "That's good, if you ignore them, they'll not think it's anything worse than your sunny personality. If you get into a jam, text me, all right? I wish I had something to send you with now, but I don't. You're a top agent, you can adapt. You've got this, ok? I'll start working now so I can have the first prototype before you get back."

The little pep talk did help calm Clint' concern, but he had already been through the New York streets once. He was far from excited to do it again. Especially heading into a mission with zero background intel. Even without being deaf, that would have him on edge.

They stopped at the lab and Bruce got out. He faced Clint, holding the doors open. "Look, if you want to tell SHIELD, I get it. If you don't, I can completely understand why. But eventually you _are_ going to have to tell your friends. We're here for you, all of us, not just me."

Clint smiled, nodded, and the doors slid closed. He leaned against the back of the elevator, wondering what he was going to do. Of course he knew Tony and Steve would blame themselves for everything that happened and if Clint wasn't fixed by the time they found out it would hit them twice as hard. Natasha would be mad at him no matter what. It could be today, tomorrow, or in three weeks. He had to pick a day, soon, to come clean.

Thursday was coming up. To him Thursday's were always good days to deal with hard decisions. Back when he joined SHIELD it had been a Thursday. Clint had just wiggled his way out of a serious jail sentence and was enjoying a free bagel at the first restaurant he could find near the courthouse. That just happened to be a Dunkin Doughnuts.

Judges always took a little bit of a shine to him. He had a mouth, but he knew to keep it in place when it was appropriate. He was an orphan, escaped from an orphanage with an only brother presumed dead. Clint had no one in the world. He'd been beaten and left for dead, thrown off a trapeze in the circus he joined. Once the judge heard his full sob-story Clint's little run in with a bank vault took a back seat.

It was Thursday morning. He was a free man eating a bagel he scammed from a polite teller who felt bad for him. He had no money, no bow, and no direction. Then Phil Coulson found him.

The agent was dressed in a black suit with a white shirt so clean Clint swore he must have bought it that morning. The edges in his pleated pants were sharp enough to cut a steak with. The agent knew Clint's name, told him who he worked for, and bought himself an onion bagel with plain cream cheese and two coffees. He wordlessly gave one to Barton and sat across from him.

Clint didn't have many options that day SHIELD came knocking. In fact, he had two. Either he was going to get up and walk away right into the arms of whatever criminal enterprise would take him, or he was going to sign up with SHIELD. Coulson was welcoming, patient, and kinder than most men Clint had ever encountered in his life. That moment they shared on a Thursday morning over bagels would become the defining point of Clint's life and forever change Thursdays.

Today was a Wednesday. If he was back at the Tower by Thursday, he'd take Natasha out like always to the local breakfast shop. He'd tell her first. But before then he had to survive today.

:(:):(:):

It would be difficult and tedious to detail the exact account of his harrowing trip downtown. The way he ignored Happy trying to give him his new security badge and the way he missed the train being called to the station and almost got left behind in New York when he should have been on his way to Baltimore. It would take a considerable amount of time and words to convey the depth of his loss. This time may be better spent looking forward to his meeting with Agent Morrissey and the mission that would be his first since the Butterfly Effect started beating its wings against him.

Agent H. Frances Morrissey turned out to be female, much to Clint's chagrin. Given Natasha's rather accurate surmise of his track record with women agents he was shocked that Clarkson even assigned him the mission in the first place.

She was sitting on a bench just outside the lonely train stop. She wore a quarter length tan coat to keep off the October chill in the air. She had sensible shoes, black, meaning whatever they were about to do involved some sort of athletics. No woman in SHIELD was as dexterous as Natasha in heels. Remedial humans had to settle for more appropriate solutions. Her hair was long, brown, and pulled back from her face in a tight band. No earrings or necklace. Only a plain black watch was on her wrist.

Clint's assessment: Typical female agent. Obviously she was unsure of herself by the way she picked her nails. She was a level five agent if that. Probably wasn't her first field mission either which was a benefit to him. At least he would be required to do less baby-sitting.

Clint stepped off the train as it pulled to a stop in the station. He nodded once in her direction and indicated she follow him. Side by side they walked down the train ramp and to the operative car waiting not far from them. Clint went soundlessly for the passenger seat. When the doors shut, he faced her.

"Agent Barton. So you're Morrissey?"

"Yes sir."

"Have you been properly debriefed for this mission?"

"I have."

"Fill me in."

She pulled a file from the center console and flipped through some of the pages. She began to read from them, but that made it difficult for Clint to read her. He had to change tactics.

"Is that the file?" He asked, hand outstretched to take it. After a brief hesitation she handed it to him. "Give me a sec to read through it and then fill me in on what's happened since." Clint glazed over the file with his eyes, picking out the more important points.

Apparently there was a munitions dealer named Harold Gregory in Baltimore trying to get his hands on a certain Senator Rumsy. Rumy had been paid by the Russians for the past three years to sway defense contracts into the hands of a certain Mr. Gregory Clay. Clay was secretly siphoning shipments to both Ukraine and the Congo before they appeared on the United States shores. Gregory wanted Rumsy so he could get to Clay in order to eliminate the competition and take over the Ukraine and Congo contracts himself. The tune of such an investment? One dead senator, one dead weapons manufacturer, and about four billion dollars to start.

It was Clint's job to get to Gregory. It was Morrissey's job to photograph Rumsy in certain illicit acts with the undercover SHIELD agent the senator had just called over for a night cap. Rumsy was going to be ousted, Clay had been picked up by a separate agent, and Gregory was a dead or alive.

Clint closed the file. It seemed straight forward enough given what he typically was stuck with. He was only too happy that Morrissey and he would be stationed on separate ends of this mission.

"Where's Gregory?" Clint asked.

With the file out of her hands, Morrissey's only real option was to look at him. "Gala tonight. Rumsey's hosting."

"Rumsy's date in place?"

"Already dressed and attending."

"Good. What time is it?"

She checked her watch, "Six thirty."

"Gala starts when?"

"Official invitations list eight-pm."

"You'll need a dress and I need a suit. Let's get to the closest supply office. We need to be on the even floor by nine, so it's got to be quick. How far is the gala from here?"

"About an hour."

"Let's move then."

:(:):(:):

Whenever Clint was forced to wear a suit his mind always went back to that day Coulson walked into the doughnut shop. Clint wanted to look like that. A thin tie, crisp shirt, and pants so black they could be mistaken for space itself. Given the option that was always the look he went for. When Clint Barton cleaned up, he looked better than good. He was drop-dead gorgeous.

Walking out to the rental BMW from the SHIELD prop station, Clint was the complete embodiment of James Bond. He had more hidden tools to kill than spaces to hide them. His shoes were polished and his hair was gelled to perfection. It was enough to make any female agent swoon.

Morrissey for her own sake kept on her feet, though it was an obvious struggle. She leaned on the hood of the car in her floor length blue dress and watched Clint walk with an air of admiration.

"Not bad, Agent Barton." She couldn't help but comment.

"Not bad yourself. Do we know who the undercover is? Any contact?"

Morrissey allowed herself one more look, up and down Clint's rugged body very poignantly. She smiled at whatever inner thoughts were flouncing around in her mind. "Contact? No. But she'll be the only one on Rumsy's arm tonight."

"You ready with the hidden camera equipment?"

"Oh, you just worry about tangling with Gregory. I've got my bit." She got into the car and waited for Clint to join her. Together, they headed to the gala.

Given that attending patrons of this party were mostly men of considerable influence and the women they chose to share their bed with, Clint would have looked out-of-place not arriving with a girl on his arm. Morrissey came to the same conclusion, but was less inclined to mount a protest to being someone's arm candy after seeing him exit the station.

"We should work on a cover. SHIELD was kind enough not to supply one." She said. Her head turned slightly in his direction when he didn't answer. "Agent Barton?"

Clint was fiddling with the links to his cuffs. After setting them how he liked he looked over. She had a puzzled look on her face which tipped him off that he'd probably missed something. "I'm sorry, what?"

She smirked. "You might not think it's a big deal to have a good cover or not, but I find it easier on me."

"Cover? All right. We don't want to be seen together more then we have to be, so I would go with the brother sister angle. That would leave you open to comb the room for whoever you want and gives me the freedom to keep an eye on the men. Most likely Gregory will be alone if he's planning to get the senator tonight. The less baggage he has in the wings the better."

"Siblings? I was going to say jilted exes."

Now Clint smiled. "I'm fine with that. What's our cover for the invitation itself?"

"You're the cousin of Senator Frank Guild. He's from Georgia. You've just finished a tour in Iraq and were invited as a personal guest."

"And I picked you for my plus one?"

"I fit the dress." She replied easily.

Clint nodded his head. "All right, Agent Morrissey. We're jilted exes. Senator Guild is not in attendance?"

"Broken leg on skiing trip."

"Perfect." Clint reclined his seat, stretching his arms over his head then folded them on his chest. The cover wasn't bad. It would hold up to most questions and gave him a starting point for small talk. Morrissey's task was simple. If she was wired or a camera (he couldn't imagine where that would be hidden) then she was going to be a simple in and out when Rumsy disappeared with the SHIELD undercover. Clint would stick to Gregory who would most likely follow after the Senator.

"Oh, one last thing!" Morrissey reached into the center console and pulled out an ear mic. She handed it to Clint. "In case I need a hand, I'll give you a signal."

Clint looked at the earphone with a small sense of disdain. This was going to be one of those defining moments Banner told him about. One where his training as an agent, or his reputation as a hard head, was going to need to come out. He went the hard way. "Yeah, don't like these. They throw off my concentration." Clint dropped the device into the cup holder. "You'll be fine."

She looked shocked. "But standard operating—"

"I don't do standard." Clint cut her off. "If you get yourself into a jam so big you need to call for help, then you might as well just flash a badge and pull yourself out of there. If I get into the room, people are going to get dropped. Understand?"

She did not, but Morrissey didn't complain either.

"Fine. We're here, pull up to the valet and wait for me to come around before you get out. And Agent Morrissey?"

Her eyes turned to his.

"Let's make a big impression, shall we?"

Clint stepped out of the car, letting his suit jacket flap open in the breeze. He one-handed the button and straightened his lapels while giving an admittance pass to the man standing by the car. Clint crossed to the driver's side and handed Agent Morrissey out. Standing beside each other they made exactly the kind of impression Clint was looking for. He took the keys from Morrissey and tossed them to the valet. Arm in arm, they headed in to the party.

A string quartet was playing in the right hand side of the grand room. Dancers were twirling across a marble dance floor. The women were in their evening best adorned in diamonds that rivaled the crown jewels. The majority of the men were old. Dressed to match but with considerably more white hair and wrinkles to go with their tuxedos. Clint had the impression that Senator Rumsy was not the only one paying for his date tonight.

Morrissey leaned into Clint ear and whispered. "I see Gregory, three-o-clock."

Clint felt her close to him, but he was too distracted by the strange flow of people to try and plan a response. It was so strange, he realized, to look at the men and women moving across the marble floor. He could hear no music, but he got a strange sense of the tempo by the way they twirled and flowed together. It was almost mesmerizing to watch. He had to snap out of it.

"I see your mark." He said. They were standing close together, surveying the room from the landing. He turned his face to hers. "Do me a favor and slap me."

He jaw dropped. "Wha—no!"

"Do it and take off." He ordered her. "We'll rendezvous later."

"But I don't understand, what if you need—"

Clint grabbed her wrist. It didn't hurt, but the shock of it gave the crowed the appearance he was looking for. He pulled her even closer. "I'm the senior agent on this. Trust me. And by the way, I don't really like that dress on you."

That was the nudge it took. She reeled up and clocked him. Thank God she did it with an open palm or else Clint may have found himself in an ER. Morrissey yanked her arm away from him and stalked away like a furious ex which was exactly how he wanted it.

So what if in her SHIELD report she'd call him every name under the sun, spout off about his immature attitude, and complain to higher ups that he didn't follow procedure. It didn't really matter. They'd heard it all before. What did matter was accomplishing this mission, deaf or not, to prove that he could.

Clint left in the opposite direction and headed for a drink. A bartender in a white suit asked him for his order, he requested Woodford bourbon. Drink in hand he left the bar to hold up a wall and survey the area.

It was a good thing his skills as a marksman depended very little on his need to hear. He reflected it was also to his benefit he wasn't required to blind himself to survive a deadly attack either. That sort of sacrifice could have proved the very end of everything he held der in his life.

Clint basked in his silence. His eyes continually fell away from the faces in the crowed to settle on the instruments or the dancers. Mentally he was waiting to hear one of those notes, like the night before when Banner ran through the hearing test. He knew the likelihood of that was nil, but he wanted it nonetheless. He resisted the urge to resent those happy people twirling and laughing around him.

Senator Rumsy had been in a small group of other men. They were drinking highballs, chinking glasses, and each one had a cigar in his mouth. After a certain time, the men separated in a mass of joviality to rejoin their women. This gave Clint the chance to finally get a look at the undercover agent SHIELD had installed as Rumsy's date.

She cut a neat line through the dancers to settle on his arm. Her hair was blonde, she wore an emerald dress and enough bling on her neck to rival the crown jewels. She flipped her long locks to the side, and closed in on his extended hand with such a vague familiarity to Clint. If he didn't know any better than he would have guessed the agent was actually—

Someone slid their arm into the crook of Clint's elbow, pulling his attention away from the Senator. He turned to see that the person was Morrissey.

"What is it?" he asked.

"The Black Widow." Morrissey replied, indicating the Senators date. "Why would SHIELD send her in? Has something changed?"

Clint snapped back to the pair. The blond had turned just enough now for him to see her fully. Sure enough there she stood. Natasha Romanov in the flowing green silk. When did she get this assignment? The same time as him? Before? Did Clarkson call her back with that debrief anyway?

"I don't get it. Why would she be set up as the mistress to his outing? Do you know?"

"Doesn't make sense." Clint said. He wasn't looking at the girl on his arm, he had no idea what she might be saying. His eyes were only on Natasha. "I'll talk to her."

"I'll get to Rumsy and distract him."

"You pull Rumsy off someplace." Clint pulled his arm from hers and snaked his way through the attendees. After a minute Morrissey smoothly followed. She cut to the left, coming up in Natasha's place just as Clint pulled the Russian away into the dancers. Morrissey tripped on her skirt, fell forward into Rumsy, and suddenly the game was on.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed this! Please review!


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:_ so a LITTLE spicy in this chapter, apologies! _**_  
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**Bagel Thursday**

_PeechTao_

_Chapter 8  
_

Clint was always light on his feet. Years of acrobatic training under the tutelage of tight rope walkers made him a master of his own body long before most teenage boys could figure out how to aim at a urinal. Dancing, though he seldom had the opportunity for it, was a genuine pleasure. When his partner was as lithe as he, it became more than a dance. it was a typhoon of unbridled natural beauty.

"Clint, what the Hell are you doing here!" Natasha seethed. Her head moved slightly to look for Rumsy, only to find him in the arms of a strange brunette in a blue dress. "Did you just set me up to get me to dance?!"

"Um, yes and no, and my name for tonight is Renner." Clint replied. He twirled her in a small circle, flicking his wrist at the end to bring his body against hers. "And I could ask you the same thing. Since when did you have to play mistress in the bed?"

They turned away from each other as the music (Clint presumed) played. When they were facing again he caught only the word Cairo. He assumed her assignment in Egypt must have been linked to Rumsy somehow.

"Since when did you let me lead?" Natasha asked dragging Clint into another few moves as they flowed among the other dancers. Barton and she had only danced on one other occasion two years ago at a social event in Dubai. Back then he was determined to force her to submit to his moves and when she didn't what started as an elegant waltz broke out into a show-stopping tango. There was no prize for best dance that night, but that didn't stop the onlookers from showering their praise.

"Since I don't want to make a scene." He replied smoothly.

Taking advantage of her position, and in an effort to get a better look at her date, she took Clint off balance and threw him sideways. The effect was Natasha Romanov in a dress dipping Clint into a low arc against the floor. Not one to squander his fun, Clint pointed one toe, threw his head back and looked like the perfect feminine partner.

"You're horrible." Natasha growled bringing him up.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?" Clint asked.

"Maybe because I've been on about a thousand missions without you, dad?" Natasha shot back. "And as far as I knew Clarkson considered you a leper. You weren't supposed to be out of your room."

"Sorry, mom, but dad said I wasn't grounded." They twirled again. Clint was finding it terribly difficult to keep a proper rhythm to the music he couldn't hear. If Natasha didn't realize before that something was wrong with him, she sure was going to suspect something soon! He changed the subject. "I'm tailing Gregory. The brunette is Morrissey."

"And I'm late, so let go of me and get lost." Natasha replied.

He imagined the tone of her voice was stern, but the look in her eyes made him know that she was enjoying their dance as much as he was. Morrissey was almost beyond her ability to distract Rumsy any longer from his stolen date. Clint didn't want to relinquish the moment he'd stolen with Natasha, but the Black Widow could see that he was also being reasonable. He pirouetted her to the edge of the dance floor and continued to spin her even after the music had stopped. She eventually had to force his hands to be still.

"Slow down, hound dog." Natasha told him. "You're missing out on your meal ticket." Her head tipped to the side.

Clint looked over to see his target slipping through the crowed. That meant it was time to get back to work.

"See you back home. Stay safe." Natasha whispered. Clint didn't reply.

By the time Barton turned back to Natasha, she was gone. Now that he was following Gregory's trail, and he knew what Natasha's part was, he intended to swiftly brief Morrissey. But that ended up more difficult than he assumed. The level 5 agent had disappeared and so did Rumsy. Clint mounted the stairs to the balcony, he could always see better from a distance. His eyes scanned the crowed with a trained precision. Natasha was off toward a hallway. She fixed him with a steady look before walking into the darkness unaccompanied. Clint picked up Gregory cutting through the people and hovering at the same hall. A minute after Natasha went, Gregory followed.

Clint cursed to himself. He didn't know what Morrissey was thinking letting the Senator take her off someplace. She was supposed to distract him, not to switch places with Natasha in an effort to bed him. Clint wished he'd taken that two-way ear piece if only to shout into Morrissey's about how reckless she had behaved by taking off.

The agent wasted no time. He stuck to the outside of the floor, passed the bar, cut through a group of men speaking and entered the hall way. There was the slight reflection of a man's boot making a left turn at the far end, so Clint rushed to catch up to it. Behind him the group he broke through was shouting at him, but Clint couldn't hear it to be insulted. At the next left he saw Gregory take the first turn right. Clint followed stealthily.

The place was like the dark hallways of what Barton conjured the Bruce Wayne mansion might look like. That or a haunted house in the middle of a horror film. The halls were long and marble tiled, their centers covered in a long red carpet that seemed as old and ornate as an 18th century castle. Banisters lined the hall at certain intervals, housing large bouquets of new flowers or busts carved by Michelangelo. A rounded banister was at the second right where Clint peered into the hall to check his target. Clint was more than surprised to see what the arms dealer had. Gregory was standing outside a room. His ear was pressed against the closed door and a colt .38 special was in his hand. Upon first reading the mission brief, Clint wasn't of the mind to write the guy off as the violent strong arm sort. He expected that Gregory was going to corner the senator, either black mail him or bribe him, and take over the US weapons contracts that way. Apparently SHIELD intel was right for once. This guy really did just want to kill Rumsy.

_No wonder SHIELD didn't specify dead or alive,_ Clint thought to himself.

In a place packed with security and fat cats drawing his own SHIELD Beretta to take out Gregory wasn't exactly an option. He had a silencer. It wasn't his typical favorite bow as it proved difficult to conceal a quiver of arrows beneath his suit. For this case, a little finesse getting his silencer screwed on in quite was called for.. Clint tucked behind his corner and pulled out his his weapon. Using the flap of his jacket he concealed his gun as he judged hos quietly his silencer was slipping over the barrel of his gun. If Gregory was in a hurry, he had no time to get this done.

:(:):

Even without the ability to hear, a new sort of sense ticked away at the back of Clint's mind. His hair stood on end, his body got jumpy, and his heart sped up inexplicably. He heard a muffled explosion, just faint enough to surprise him before the vase across from him exploded. Shards of pottery, water, and flowers hit the floor soundlessly and Clint knew at once something had gone wrong. He turned back to the hall, watching Gregory with the gun lifted squeeze the trigger again. _What does he think he's doing?!_ Clint wondered. He ducked around the corner, protected from the fired bullet. He finished with the silencer and pulled his gun. He dropped to one knee and took aim in the hall, the target was already running the opposite direction. Clint dropped him in a single round. Barton pushed to his feet and ran for the door he assumed the senator was behind. He pulled it open, his Beretta aimed and ready on whatever he may find. The scene was nothing like SHIELD had planned.

Morrissey was on the bed, her dress askew and torn. Her hair was mussed out of its pony tail and her hands were clamped tightly around her gun. She was pointing the barrel at Senator Rumsy. The man was lying on his back across the floor with a puddle of blood circling his torso. Natasha stood by the senator's neck though she didn't touch him. No reason to waste a set of finger prints on a man she knew was dead.

"Nice timing, Barton. Didn't you hear me calling you?" Natasha said angrily. "Man was a pig. His wife'll be better off with a dead husband than what he was in to."

Clint knew she was talking but couldn't understand a word of it. He looked down the hall. So far no one was coming down after them. He pulled the door closed behind him.

"Morrissey, report." Clint said.

"Leave her be." Natasha told him nonchalantly. "Guy deserved it."

But Clint ignored her. He couldn't hear her. He went over to Morrissey. The agent was shaking, holding her gun as if to let go would mean Rumsy would start crawling back up to life like a zombie.

"Agent," he said to her. "What happened?"

The woman didn't look at him, but he could understand her. "Came at me. He said he liked my dress. I'm sorry, I panicked when he—"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Look, I've got this, Clint. Leave her be. If a guy's a rapist he deserves get shot by his victim. I only wish she aimed lower first."

"I never killed anyone before." The woman said. She was shaking, her finger on the trigger. "I'm just surveillance. I never had to—"

"Welcome to level six security." Clint slowly reached forward and peeled the gun out of her hands. He flipped the safety switch and unchambered the round from the barrel before handing it back to Natasha. With a gentle look he picked the girl up from the bed. He motioned to Natasha and the body on the floor. "You handle this?"

"If I say I have it, then I have it." Natasha replied. "I told Clarkson not to trust you with the noobs."

Clint shot her a glare that only lasted a few moments before it crumbled into a bit of understanding. She had a point whether he wanted to agree to it or not.

:(:):

Agent Morrissy was tucked into the small booth, her hands wrapped tightly around her cup of coffee. She was wearing Clint's suit jacket. A pot of coffee sat between them on the laminate table of the Maryland diner Clint pulled into beside the mainline Amtrak station outside the city proper. The destruction of the senatorial gala was long behind them now. Clint considered going back to make sure Natasha didn't need a hand with the cleanup but one look at the agent across from him changed his mind.

"It's fine." Clint said. "SHIELD's going to have to get a little better on their in field training, but you did good."

She looked deeply into her cup, fingers laced across each other. She didn't immediately respond.

Clint put his hand over her cup. She met his gaze.

"You going to be ok?"

She pressed her lips together in a thin line. "Yeah. I don't know why I'm acting like this. I'm an agent. I'm a senior agent. I did two tours in Iraq. I've been in this situation. I—"

Clint pulled the cup out of her hand and set it off to the side. He held her hands in his and looked very seriously into her face. "When you were in Iraq did a sixty-four-year-old white guy with a face that bulldogs cry over hold you at knife point and attempt to rape you?"

She slowly shook her head.

"Exactly. And let me tell you, if some sixty-four-year-old white guy held a knife to me and attempted for force me to have sex with him, I probably would have shot him in the chest too."

She smiled, it was difficult to tell if she was laughing or not.

Clint let her hands go and went over to the diner's counter. He paid the check and returned to the table with a slice of apple pie topped in a piece of sharp cheddar cheese. He set it in front of Agent Morrissey with a fork.

"Now, do me a favor and eat your feelings. When you're done start that SHIELD report. Don't leave anything out. I need to get to the train before it takes off without me."

Morrissey picked up the fork. "Thanks, Agent Barton. You know, when I first met you I thought you were probably the biggest SHIELD jerk there was. I heard the stories. Everyone has. The ones about the Helicarrier and the New York attack. Id know you're an Avenger. I know about a thousand agents that would want to take that spot and the fact that you're probably bitter for that. They say you don't deserve it. After everything you did you shouldn't have anything you've been given. But you know what?" She stood up, her arms wrapped around his neck. He didn't know what she was saying now, but he supposed it didn't matter. Into his deaf ears she whispered. "You do deserve it. Nobody gave it to you, you took it. You're the best agent I know. Thank you."

Clint held her back, squeezing her hard like a brother might do to his kid sister. "Hey, no crying in spy-school. Didn't Director Fury ever tell you that?"

She grinned. She pulled away from him then on a whim closed in again. Her lips pressed against his and suddenly they were two SHIELD agents standing in a Maryland diner, both wearing their best and kissing over a slice of southern apple pie. Clint pulled away first. He was appreciative, but he knew there was nothing good that could come from stringing the agent along in that way. He pulled his fingers through her hair and kissed her forehead.

"See you around." He told her. Clint turned away from her and waved lightly to the waitress behind the bar.

Behind him, Agent Morrissey called his name. When he didn't reply, she turned to look at him, but he was already disappearing for the door.

"Barton?" She called a little louder. "Barton?"

Clint never replied. He pulled open the restaurant door and struck out into the dark early morning alone.

* * *

so yes, a little darker subject. Sorry! didn't intend it to go there, but it was fitting. I like this Morrissey character and I may bring her back in another book at some point.

Please review!


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: So strange coincidence my good friend just ruptured her eardrum while diving. Apparently all of my ruptured ear drum symptoms were pretty spot on!**_  
_

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**Bagel Thursday**

_PeechTao_

_Chapter 9  
_

After a shorter train ride then what initially brought him to Maryland, Clint was at last back in the Tower. He'd texted Bruce and they arranged for Clint to be picked up from the train station in one of Tony's cars. Bruce had something to show Clint and since they were both still awake at this time of the morning, they might as well get to it now.

Tony's private lab hid between two floors of the R and D department in a level that didn't exist on any Tower blueprints. Another elevator stopped between floors and accessed by remote pin and retinal scan gained them access. It wasn't abnormal to find Banner or Clint here working on mutual projects, such as the new interface technology, so it was unlikely to set off any alarms in Tony's mind should he get an alert. The room was also a telecommunications dark zone to keep prying eyes from accessing the video feed. The perfect place to conduct an experiment beyond prying eyes.

Banner motioned to a seat by his work station. He dug around the bottom drawer of his desk for a few stray items and after unearthing them, he placed them on the table. They seemed standard enough, but not exactly what Clint had expected. He picked up one of the devices and played his fingers across it.

"So it's like a hearing aid, right?"

Bruce made a hand motion Clint and he had worked on. It meant Bruce had something to say, and Clint needed to look at him to catch it.

"Yes and no. It's not something you can put in your ear, they're still too damaged for that. As the inside surface heals, we can upgrade. This will attach over the back of your ear, transmit sounds through your skull, and into your undamaged inner ear to interpret. I modeled it after a few of those cochlear implants we talked about, but this isn't something I'm going to have to do brain surgery on you to get working."

"Appreciate that." Clint slipped the device on like and over-the-ear headphone. He could feel the cold metal base press lightly against his head. "Now what?"

Bruce accessed his Jarvis workstation and brought up a rendering of the device. Multiple level adjusters he arranged in space to one side. He also brought up a standard music file and hit the play button.

"I'm going to adjust the device little by little to get it tuned. Let me know when you can start to hear the music."

Clint nodded.

Bruce twisted his hand over the first digital knob and an ear-splitting tone tore through the room. Clint shot out of his chair, Bruce readjust the knob, and everything was quiet.

"Ow." Clint glared, holding a hand to his throbbing temple. "Well, If I wasn't deaf before I sure am now!"

Bruce motioned and Clint faced him.

"Sorry, it's still has the little kinks. Let's try again but much lower."

"Please do."

Bruce started instead with the lowest of the three dials. He rotated his hand, turning the rending clockwise. After leaving it there for a few moments, he moved up to the second dial and adjust that as well. The music was still playing. A separate little scale of all the musical bars was climbing up and down with the notes of the song. Clint watched it and waited. Bruce moved up to the top dial again and slowly adjusted it. The harsh tone returned, but at a tolerable level this time. Clint braved it out, and after a few hurried switch flips the sound of Vivaldi's Four Seasons came pouring mechanically through Clint's brain. He stood again. His body stiffened. He listened, really listened. His hands gripped the table until they turned white. His face was white too.

Bruce rushed to the other side of the table to grab the agent before he dropped from the shock. The chair had been knocked over, and he fished for it with one hand and guided Clint into it with the other. Clint was still for a long time. He just sat there, absorbing it all, listening to the cords of Vivaldi play and thinking it was the most beautiful piece of music he'd ever heard in his life. He was shaking. Bruce knelt next to him. It took a while before Clint realized they were tightly holding hands. Clint's face was wet with hot tears. Hurriedly Clint wiped them away with the back of his sleeve. They'd never speak about that moment between them. It would always be there, a bond they couldn't break. Clint had never cried in front of another person before. He was glad that if had to be anyone, it was Banner and if it had to be any moment, it was this.

The song finished playing and Clint looked up at Bruce.

"I take it's working?" Bruce grinned.

"God, Bruce," Clint whispered emotionally.

"Now we're going to need to fine tune it. Let me play it again, and we'll work with the levels. How does it sound? Clear? Grainy?"

Clint was so happy to hear anything it didn't matter to him what it sounded like. He forced himself to think about it, to return back to his calculating mindset and out of the emotional one, but the transition was difficult. They went through Vivaldi three times straight through until they reached a level both were happy with. The sound wasn't normal but three days of absolute nothingness left Clint with a surprisingly skewed notion of exactly what normal was.

"Let's leave it here for a while and see how you adjust. As you get used to it, we're going to need to increase the volume. Right now you can hear typical speech, but things said quietly you may still have issues with. "

"I guess as far as quality, metallic is a good way to describe it." Clint told him, "Like, robotic. Like I'm listening to a machine not an actual person, you know?"

"We'll adjust more as we improve it. If I can get my hands on some DPI video card chips, like for computer processing, then that would seriously improve the quality. We'll work with what we have for now. But Clint, there is one thing about this. It's going to be a little obvious."

Clint had to pause and think about that.

"You can pretend it's an earphone, but it's not going to fool Tony. Natasha I'd be surprised if she doesn't know at least something is up. Are you going to be ok with that?"

It took a while of consideration. In the end Clint agreed. "You're right. I was going to say something when I knew of something to say. I just- I didn't want Tony and Steve thinking that this was somehow their fault, you know? I wanted to be able to fix it before that. I think this is a good time to pull them in."

Banner seemed a little relieved. "Tony'd be happy to help me fabricate. I was worried he'd finish finding all those algorithms before you were ready to tell him. He's more manageable when he's focused on something else."

"Yeah. I'll tell Natasha first, later this morning when she gets back from Baltimore. See how she takes it."

"Want me there?"

"Yeah. She probably wouldn't believe it straight from me. I need my doctor's note to go along with it." Clint smiled to himself. Vivaldi was still playing in the background. The violins iconic sound echoed through the lab, giving the place a feeling of macabre. It was then Clint realized what day it was. "Hey, you know, its Bagel Thursday?"

:(:):

Natasha woke to the constant, BRR BRR BRR that was Clint's Thursday morning alarm clock. It was annoying, loud, and generally got him tossing himself out of bed within a few seconds in order to turn it off. But not this morning. He must have been awake already, or in the shower, because that alarm just kept going and going and going. She rolled over in bed and crammed a pillow over her face. Technically she should be getting up as well. Thursdays, in Clint's mind at least, had long ago been dubbed "Bagel Thursday". No matter what country they were in, what condition they were in, and whether or not bagels were actually generally available, Clint and Natasha never missed a Bagel Thursday together. If they had to do it via international teletype servers over ten thousand miles apart, then that's just how it was done.

The alarm was still going. Now annoyed, she heaved herself out of bed and stumbled down the hall to his room. If he was in the shower, she was going to reach in there and turn on the ice water. She pushed his door open to the obnoxious ringing of the clock. Clearly displayed on the face was the exact 14 minutes and 35 seconds that it had been going off completely unattended by the SOMEHOW sleeping form curled up in the bed. Natasha slammed her fist down on the top of it.

"I could kill you." she growled. "Since when did Bagel Thursday,_ which isn't even a real thing_, have to start at six in the morning?"

Clint didn't move.

Natasha growled at him, leaned over in the bed and slapped his arm. Normally he would startle awake, and she'd have a good laugh at his expense. Honestly how could he NOT hear that car alarm and she could? This time was different. Clint was startled. He was so shocked that he grabbed Natasha by the wrists and dragged her down into his bed. He was half awake, but his body reacted automatically to whatever intruder it perceived. He grappled with here for only a moment before Natasha found herself thrown on her back with Clint braced over top of her with his hand in a fist.

"Clint!" She screamed.

His eyes refocused, and as suddenly as he'd grabbed her he was off. He got out of the bed, stumbled to his feet and leaned against the nightstand breathing heavily. Cautiously Natasha got up. The bed stood between them.

"You have never, never, done that to me." Natasha said slowly, both on guard and hurt.

"Natasha-"

She held her hand up. The confusion on her face was blatantly obvious. "How long have we been partners? Never once have you done that. What the Hell is wrong with you?"

"Just let me explain-"

She turned away, he couldn't see her face to understand what she was saying. The new earpiece Banner had designed for him was sitting on the nightstand. He reached out to get it but suddenly she was beside him and grabbed his hand.

"You aren't even listening to me, Clint!"

"Tasha, I can explain, it's just your talking so fast and I can't keep up with any of it." Clint told her honestly. "I was going to tell you today, but you didn't give me-"

"Bagel Thursday. You don't even know what day it is and that stupid alarm of yours-"

"Tasha, please, just stop for a second and I can-"

She looked past him to the doorway. Clint had to turn to see who had shown up, most likely aroused by her yelling and him trying to stop her. He could only thank his luck that it was Bruce.

"Bruce, thank God, the alarm. I didn't know, it woke her up. It just slipped my mind."

Natasha looked hurriedly between the two of them. She took a step back, then focused back on Clint. "You two are hiding something? Oh, now this has got to be good." She sat in Clint's desk chair with her long legs folded. Her arms crossed her chest and her chin jutted out. "You better start talking before I kick your teeth in, Clint, because after that I have half a mind to."

Bruce gestured for Clint attention and pointed to the hearing device. Clint grabbed it off the table and hooked it over his ear. No time like the present to give it a whirl. Bruce and Clint sat beside each other on the end of Clint's bed, facing Natasha's full-fledged scrutiny. She'd already been unguarded by the strange communication she picked up between the two of them. And what was Clint willing wearing now? Her hard shell cracked just a little as her mind worked. Bruce and Clint working on a project? Gestures between them she didn't understand? Her hands lowered a little. This was not going to be good news.

"Look, I wasn't completely honest back in Egypt. The mission was over, yes, but it didn't exactly go as planned on a few levels. The sonic weapon was operational, Tony and Steve could both tell you that they don't know, and I never told them, how I was able to get around it and they couldn't. You know I have sonic arrow tips."

Natasha's hands dropped to her lap. His words, spoken a measure too loud, she realized, were disarming her. Sonic device, sonic arrowheads. She was smart, she could already start putting the information together before he could even finish explaining.

"I didn't see another way. We had seconds and that was it before either all of us were dead, or we weren't. Steve shielded me from the initial explosion enough that I was at least still conscious. I did the only thing I thought I could. I told Bruce because I had to. I lied about the Israel office, I had been there before. It was my excuse to get Bruce alone. Since being back we've been working on a solution. I didn't want to tell you. I didn't want to _until_ I knew something could be done."

Natasha's face had turned red. Her eyes blinked a little faster, trying to remove the small terrified tears she was not about to shed. "So what does this mean? You're deaf now? Are you telling me that?"

Bruce took over the medical jargon and explain to her what he had explained to Clint just two nights before.

"Bruce has been working late to make this," Clint removed his amplifier and handed it to her for inspection. She took it as if it was a fragile lifeline. In some ways, it was just that. "It's not perfect yet, but it helps. My phone is on vibrate, so I know when that's going off, but I completely forgot about the alarm. I'm sorry, I had this big morning thing planned to explain it to you."

Natasha handed the device back and Clint hooked it on.

"So, when you and I talked yesterday, you were what? reading my lips?"

"Yeah. It's been a learning curve."

"This absent-minded, you missing out on what I'm saying, the car ride to Jerusalem? All of that."

"Everything since the explosion."

"You didn't call me." Natasha said, more to herself. "You texted me. I didn't think it was all that weird at first. Not normal, but not alarm worthy. You messaged the cleanup team, you didn't call them. You pretended to sleep. Made it easy not to get caught in conversation." She shook her head, trying to figure out now in retrospect how she could have ever missed so many clues.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you." Clint repeated. "Tasha, I'm so sorry. But I needed to figure this out for myself first. I didn't want to just not have anything to say."

After a moment to think she nodded her head a little. "No, I understand. Fury can't know, it wasn't secure at the base to speak about it. But now I know. It's going to take a little adjusting, but we've worked together for long enough now, Clint, its fine. I know you can't handle this, so I can to."

She was still obviously shaken, but in better control of it. This was just one more challenge. They'd had challenges before. And Clint was in good hands. Between Bruce and Tony . . . "Tony, you didn't tell Tony?"

Clint shook his head. "He was going to blame himself. If this wasn't fixable- I wanted to make sure it was fixable before I said anything."

"Captain Rogers?"

"No. It's only been Bruce and me."

She unfolded her legs. Apparently they'd been talking for almost an hour already. Seven A.M. and Steve was sure to still be in the gym. Tony had crept down into the lab early to put the finishing touches on Bruce's challenging algorithms. There was no time like he present to get this over with.

"I'll handle Steve, but Stark is up to you." She stood, letting a hand drift against his chest as she passed him. "I get it, Clint. I don't like it, but I get it." Her hand crossed to his shoulder, lingered there then she went for the door.

"Hey, It's still Bagel Thursday," Clint told her. "When we're done we are going out."

Natasha said something too low for him to hear and she went out. She was only gone for a moment before suddenly she was behind him again. Clint felt one long, hard slap land against the back of his head. Someone shoved him off the bed, threw him to the floor, and kicked him in the side.

"What the HELL!" Natasha screamed. "You could have DIED on that mission Clint! Died! You could have killed Morrissey, me, got caught in a crossfire, no wonder you didn't hear me calling for you from the room!" She kicked him again. Bruce leaped across the room to grab her around the arms and waist.

"Now, Agent Romanov, take it easy now!"

She kicked Clint again. "Too cool for an ear mic? I don't do protocol? Since when? You should have told me before you took the mission Clint, you idiot! Bruce let me go before I shoot you in the face!"

"Shoot me in the face, and Clint (and the majority of the rest of this building) will no longer be intact." Bruce pointed out.

"Ask me again if I care?" Natasha growled.

"I'm sorry!" Clint was repeated, hands desperately trying to protect himself from her assault. "Honest, I'm sorry. Wont happen again!"

"It can't happen again! You can only go deaf once you stupid, selfish little—" She broke away from Bruce, kicked Clint hard in the side and stalked out the door cursing in Russian.

Bruce straightened out his pajama top and reset the glasses on the end of his nose. "You know, that went better than I thought it would."

* * *

I loved putting that extra bit in the end. Honestly, how could she NOT freak out just a little?

Please review!


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N_ This under went a few dozen revisions, hope you like the flow (and sorry if its a bit choppy!)_**_  
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* * *

**Bagel Thursday**

_PeechTao_

_Chapter 10_

It was Bruce's idea not to wait before getting Stark up-to-date on the news. It was impossible to gauge what Steve's reaction was going to be, so to prevent the risk of Tony finding out in a second-handed way, Clint changed and followed Bruce down to the private lab. There was music playing, creating an image similar to the one the night before. This time it was not Vivaldi. Tony had his typical playlist, a mixture of Black Sabbath and whatever similar renditions he could find through Pandora. He waved a hand over his head from beneath his work bench indicating he heard them enter.

"Hope that's Jolly Green, cause I have solved his outrageously difficult plasma puzzle, and you know something, I think you did it on purpose too." Tony came out from under his desk and reconnected some stray wires. His digital space rendering technology lit up with an image of Stark Tower. "Glitch is fixed. Oh, hey birdman."

Clint smiled at him.

"Now why would you think I did it on purpose?" Banner asked innocently amused.

"Uh, because you are working on a super-secret project behind a very sophisticated multi-algorithmic file inscription and if you'd given me at least another hour I would have figured it out myself."

Banner indicated the desk. "Did you fry your desk server figuring that out?"

"No, but I think _you_ fried it when you installed a literal _firewall_ that caused the overheat on my system when I tried to pass the first barrier. Very clever." Tony dropped his tools on the tabletop and looked poignantly at Bruce. "You diabolical little man."

Bruce shrugged. "Kept you out for a while. I have to say it was a success."

"We're discussing it now, so that means you are not only acknowledging this secret project, but looking for assistance. What is it? Something tantalizing isn't it? Is gamma radiation involved?"

Bruce motioned to Clint. "Actually, it's not my project. It's Clint's."

Now Tony's curiosity went from piqued to bursting. "Weapons tech? Spy stuff? Seeing through walls? Oh wait, i made that one already... Oh, a grappling gun so you can be Robin on the weekends. Sorry, doctor but that's going to make you Batman. You share names after all."

"Tony, this is something you're probably going to want to sit down to hear." Clint said.

Curiosity overflowing now, Tony couldn't sit. He pulled over his bag of dehydrated blueberries and began to eat a few. They helped keep him quiet when he was excited.

Clint started again on the story he was getting sickeningly used to repeating. Tony was stoic, but subtle hints over time gave him a clue how the billionaire was handling the information. When Clint started the story on the battlefield, Tony was attentive and chewing incessantly. When he mentioned the arrows, the chewing slowed, a little at first. Then came the final blow and Tony wasn't eating at all.

"It wasn't your fault, Tony. Not yours, not the Captain's. No ones. We had to get out, and I found the only way we could. The damage was considerable but it's ok because Bruce has been working to fix it. We have a fix, temporary for now but it's something to work with. Right Bruce?"

"It's a start. It's what's hiding behind all those firewalls. The first night you caught me modifying your bio-engineering body scanner. I was splicing it with that new neural technology to create a rendering of Clint's acoustic system. From there came the second project. Creating the earpiece. I spent the plane ride modyfying the algorithms to keep you out."

Clint pulled his aid off and handed it to Tony. True to form, Stark wasn't someone who liked having things handed to him. Clint placed it on the table in front of him. "It sounds a little metallic, grainy. It's only a prototype."

Tony didn't say anything. In fact, after he finished chewing, he put his blueberries down next to the implant and stood very still absorbing everything he was told. He began to say something, but his face was turned away so Clint had to stop him.

"Tony, without that on, I don't know what you're saying."

Tony turned back to him, his face was mortified now.

"I'm sorry, but it's the truth. I can read lips. Bruce and I had this code worked out to help me follow conversation, but I still can't read through the back of your head unless you invent me something to do that."

Tony opened his mouth but as far as Clint could tell no sound came out of it. His eyes went down to the implant and he turned it over in his hands.

"Computer processor would help the clarity." He said with his head focused down. Then he seemed to remember that Clint couldn't hear him. He looked up. "I. Can. Help. Ad-just. The. Basic.-"

"Tony, I'm death, not dumb, just talk normal for crying out loud." Clint told him smiling.

"I mean- I can adjust this. It's . . . I can work to make it rather, you know. I can, this- Clint, you're deaf! Deaf! You are a spy, and you are deaf. You didn't do this, if I hadn't designed that stupid-" He stopped, letting his fist hit off the top of the counter. "Metallic. I'll fix that. I'm going to fix this."

"Tony?"

Stark looked at him. Time together made it obvious to see Stark was hiding his emotions. The guise that hid his deepest seated feelings now came up like his iron mask.

"Stop that."Clint warned him.

"Stop what? I'm not doing anything. You asked for help, I'm helping. I'm a helper. That's what helpers do."

"Tony, no you're not. I know this thing you're doing. You've got to get it out of your head. I'm fine. We're alive. We could have all just died out there, but we didn't. So stop sitting there and telling me you're ok with this. Because it's not your fault no matter how much you are trying to say it is."

Bruce backed away a little from the two of them. Unless Tony was planning on coming over the table at him, Bruce didn't expect a blow up like the one between Natasha and Clint. He knew this was going to be a hard break, but he didn't want to interrupt or sell the moment short by them remembering he was standing there too.

"You wanted me to handle it, I'm handling it!" Tony shot back. "What am I supposed to say? Good? I'm happy? Way to go, Clint, you did a great job digging me out of the desert. Real happy you decided to be maimed the rest of your life."

"Tony!"

Tony held his hand up, "Wait, weren't we recently stuck in Bolivia and you and me were in a jam? Did you cut your foot off and not tell me that either?"

"That's not fair Tony," Clint growled back.

"No, what's not fair is having a friend not tell you when he gets screwed up! You read my SHIELD file; remember that little thing about not playing well with others? Yeah maybe it's because I'm sick of them stabbing me in the back!"

"I did NOT stab you in the back. This was my problem, I wanted to handle it."

"Oh you handled it real well apparently. What are you going to do the next time SHIELD calls? Take a sick day? Not answer? What's going to happen when we're on our next mission and I need help but I can't reach you? Why couldn't you have just waited?"

"Waited for what?! For you to figure something out?"

"Yeah-"

"No, as I remember you were baking in that suit of yours and unconscious. Kinda hard to solve problems from lala land, Stark."

Tony lowered his voice some. He was mad. More than mad he was hurt, embarrassed, and disappointed. Clint and Tony were close. Very few men in Tony's life could ever have the opportunity of being considered one of Stark's friends. In fact, he had exactly three. James Rhodes, Clint Barton, and Bruce Banner. Steve was a leader type, close but not a friend. Happy was a great employee, but Stark was not about to pour his heart out for the guy. When Tony's friends kept secrets, when they were hurting and he didn't know, that was a problem.

Tony looked away from Clint. It was hard to stare in his eyes now that both of them were mad. "Look, I know you probably don't get that I feel responsible, and frankly I don't get it either. I shouldn't care. We're nothing to each other accept some part of that one-eyed jackal's ego-trip." He shot a glance at Clint to see how that bomb would drop, but what he saw instead was Clint with his hands folded over his chest with a stubborn look. Clint motioned to one ear, shrugged his shoulders, and folded his arms again. This was going to be harder than Tony thought.

"Without looking at you, I know what you're saying. You're blaming yourself, which I told you not to do, then you're justifying the fact that you shouldn't care by saying we're nothing to each other. But guess what, Stark? You aren't getting rid of me."

"What is this supposed to be a soap opera?" Tony said. "Don't think so high of yourself."

Suddenly Clint smiled. A large, disturbing, psycho-style smile. "I love you too, Tony."

Tony stepped back a little, worried about what he was going to do. "I did _not_ say—"

Clint walked around the table, holding his arms out. "I can't hear you, say it again. I know deep in that suit you have a heart. I think you're my tin man."

Tony backed away, skirting around the table to keep it between them. "I did NOT say that. Stop, I'm trying to scream at you, you idiot!"

"Awe, come on, give the disabled kid some love."

"Clint I swear I don't do touching."

"I'll be gentle."

Bruce watched the table antic for a little while, dutifully remaining in his forgotten shop corner while Tony and Clint made up. Clint had that way about him. The strange gravitation and way he had to diffuse dangerous situations by talking his way out of them. Tony was upset, rightly so, and he'd probably hang on to that for a while. That's what Bruce was for. At least he had someone to complain to.

To keep Clint off of him, Tony yanked open a drawer. He grabbed a discarded hand repulsor and pulled it on as he ran around the table. He was distracted, so Clint ran the opposite way and grabbed him in an arm bar. Tony elbowed him in the ribs. Clint grabbed his other arm, and the two of them went crashing to the floor. Given their new escalation, Bruce figured it was time to step in. He went over to the grappling pair and tapped Clint twice on the shoulder. Tony was curling out of his grip anyway. Soon he'd get himself free. Clint let go, Tony pulled away, and Clint went for his knees instead. Tony's repulsor went off and the light above them exploded.

The elevator door opened and Steve Rogers entered the lab like a man about to storm Normandy. He saw Clint and Tony fighting, Banner trying to break them up, then the shattered light in the ceiling. His normal conclusion would be that Stark wasn't taking the news well.

"Hey, break it up you two!" Steve shouted. Behind him Natasha rushed forward to help. Between the three of them Clint and Stark were pulled apart and sent to separate corners. Steve stood between them as a referee. "Look, I get that you probably didn't like hearing about this any more than I did, but don't beat the crap out of Clint for it!"

"He started it!" Tony replied.

"And Clint, why didn't you tell us? I think it's obvious how Tony feels about this, but weren't you the one who left on a mission yesterday? I got the SHIELD report on that and one screw up could have killed you and agent Morrissey!"

Clint shrugged. "No one's going to let that one go, huh?"

"No, because it was a stupid move." Natasha added, but then realized Clint couldn't hear her. She folded her arms and stewed to herself.

"Steve they weren't really fighting, actually they were making up." Bruce said.

"We just were, you know, fighting to make up." Tony replied.

"I don't care if you two were dancing; stop it so we can talk." Steve said.

Clint waved his hands, directing all attention his way. "Um, can I point out how frustrating it is to have all of you in the same room and no idea what's going on?" Clint went over to the workbench and hooked on Bruce's prototype. "Honestly I don't know how I survived the last couple days with this."

Behind him the others exchanged a shared amount of mixed emotions.

"Alright, now let's talk, I guess."

Steve went first. "I think the fact you kept this from us is one of the stupidest things you've ever done. And Bruce, I'd think you would have had more sense to help him do this!"

Bruce's mouth dropped open. "Wait—What? Hey, I'm not part of this."

"Technically you are." Tony said. "And, hey I thought we were tight or something and you give me a multilayer algorithm for nothing? That took serious dedication to fix, is the plasma array already operational?"

Bruce made to respond, but he looked down at his shoes and folded his arms. "Uh, well, yeah. Yeah it is."

"So I just wasted my time on a puzzle?"

"Stark, cool it, can we please stick to the issue at hand and what we need to do about it?" Steve cut him off. "Look, the fact is Clint is deaf. That's going to take some adjusting with the team. Does Director Fury know?"

Clint and Natasha both started forward. They shouted "No!" simultaneously, surprising the others.

Steve threw up his hands. "What, are we just going to do? Sweep this under the rug? Clint you are an agent, it's our duty to report—"

"No, you can't!" Clint cried.

"If you do, that'd be it." Natasha added.

"Agents don't get sick leave and an island in Tahiti, we get scrubbed out. Do you even know what that means?"

"Steve, they'd kill him. If we're lucky Fury doesn't know already and we still have a few days to figure this out. The minute SHIELD gets wind Clint's dead."

Clint gave Natasha a sour look. "Yeah, but maybe not right away. I think I could live a while before they caught up to me."

She returned the look. "Clint, SHIELD found Bruce Banner in the middle of Calcutta. You'd be easy."

Steve held his hands out to stop them. "OK! I get it. No SHIELD for now, but Natasha's right. We're going to have to do something about this."

Tony took the floor. He walked over to Clint and stole the cochlear device off the side of Clint's head and headed to his work station. "Solution is being worked on. Now everyone get out. This is getting fixed. Give me a few hours to fabricate, JARVIS, we're in creation mode. Get Bruce's inscription files up and running, Bruce you helping me now?"

"What's he saying?" Clint asked.

"No, you're helping me. Let's get cracking. JARVIS, I'll put in my security codes, allow for merging with Tony's desk." Bruce patted Clint's arm. "Clint?"

Barton watched for Bruce's signal and focused on his face.

"I'm going to need the transmitter for a while. Can you and Natasha manage for a bit?"

Why not? Clint had already managed this long alone. He indicated that he could and Bruce headed to his own desk system to bring up the encrypted files. Clint motioned to Steve and Natasha and headed for the elevator but stopped before he reached it. "Oh, hey, Bagel Thursday. Do you guy want something?"

Bruce signed that he'd send Clint a text. Steve and Natasha noticed the exchange in complete confusion, but didn't ask about the meaning.

Bruce watched them get into the elevator, leaving Tony and he alone to work. Bruce expected the news to hit the team a lot harder than what he'd witnessed... Natasha had taken everything in stride, even Clint lying to her. If Bruce was a gaming man, he surely would have lost that bet. Tony was Clint's best friend outside of his partnership with Natasha. Tony was reserved, when he wanted to be, but emotion over those closest to him was always on display. Bruce remembered him returning to the Tower after Happy was caught in the explosion. That was so altered compared to now. At first he thought Tony was just taking things in stride. He saw a problem and his mind was working at a solution. Bruce admired the fact that Tony kept it together so well, and when the elevator doors closed he turned to say just so much to him.

"Tony!" Bruce exclaimed. He rushed over, expecting to have to pick Tony off the ground after he fainted. But Tony remained swaying on his feet, pale and silent.

"I said something to him when his back was turned. He didn't hear me. It wasn't like I was whispering or something. I wasn't mumbling. I tend to mumble. And talk fast. It drives Pepper crazy but I don't notice it. I just do it. Bruce, he's never going to hear me is he?"

Bruce meant to say something, but the words caught in his throat. He settled for a short shake of his head.

"I just can't believe it. This isn't right, and it isn't fair. I got rid of my tech to keep it from hurting people and now my best friend is deaf because of it. I've got to fix this. Bruce it's my fault, if I hadn't made that thing years ago, then this would have never happened. "

"Tony, it's not your fault. Clint doesn't think that and neither does anyone else. You didn't weaponise it like those men did, you didn't set it off, and you didn't make the decision that Clint did to deafen himself to save everyone. Men made those decisions, but not you."

"I've got to fix it."

"Then let's fix it."

:(:):

When Clint reached the main level he intended to head to his room for a wad of cash and a jacket. He passed by the living room, never noticing, never hearing Natasha and Steve attempt to call him over into the kitchen. Clint grabbed his few things from his room, put his cash in his wallet, and went back to the living room to find the others. His eyebrows raised at seeing Natasha and Steve already waiting.

"Oh, hey. Ready to go?"

Whatever Steve was expecting to say was not forthcoming. He straightened, and looked at Natasha.

Natasha said nothing.

Steve too waited, but found his voice before the moment became increasingly awkward. "Clint, I'm so sorry-"

Clint held up his hand. "It's ok. Well, not really, but it's going to be. Tony and Bruce are down their busting their butts and all I have to do is go out and get some bagels."

Again Steve wanted to say something, but didn't. Instead he sort of looked around him, found a pen and paper by the kitchen counter and was half way to retrieving them before Clint stopped him.

"Steve, no, I can read your lips. Just look at me and make sure you get my attention. You don't have to write everything down. Are you coming out with us?"

Steve looked at him, or glared at him. His gaze was intense, close, and a little uncomfortable as well. "Yes, I am coming out with you."

Under the scrutiny Clint had only a single recourse, and that was to laugh. "I think we need to work on this whole lip-reading thing with you. I can't tell if you want to kill me or are trying to focus really, really hard. Oh, before we go I need to show you a couple little things so pay attention."

Clint had them lift their hands and hold them out in front of them. "So Banner and I made up our own private sign language or signals. Natasha, if you're talking and I don't know it, tap here," he indicated his right hand and displayed it on theirs. "Just lightly, don't freak me out. Tony is the left hand. Steve, we ran out of hands for you, so you are a tap to the foot. If someone says a joke that I'm supposed to laugh at, tug here. If I'm talking too loud, squeeze here. You don't need to pinch my elbow off, just a light squeeze. Now really important is this: if you are trying to talk to me you need to get my attention first, wave your hand like this. My eyes are better than any of you and unless you're standing right behind me I'll know. Ok, put your arms down. Until I get an earpiece that works, don't call me on my phone. Text me first. My phone is on vibrate so I'll know. If I'm in a packed room and I can't follow conversation, then text me the gist of it so I can figure out what's going on. If you want to tell me something, but want to text it instead, either just do that or sign your hand like this. Oh, and try not to let me get hit by a car. I tried that and it wasn't fun."

Steve and Natasha took the debriefing like champs and prepared as if they were going into the thick of battle. In fact, the way they walked away from that downtown jaunt would leave one to wonder if they had just rolled off a battlefield. What was about to come one may ask? Nothing short of Steve and Natasha tripping over themselves to be the perfect guardian signaler of their damaged colleague. Natasha was his partner; Steve was his commanding officer in all appearances. The combination was a toxic one.

Happy had a new id badge for Clint, Steve tapped, Natasha pinched, Clint eventually figured it out. Walking out the door someone waved hello. Another mismatch of signals and Clint nearly stumbled into a pole. Steve reached out to grab him and Natasha pulled the opposite way. Clint hit the pole. A sudden curb appeared and Steve picked Clint up and set him down as if the agent was blind, not deaf. New York was definitely much more of a challenge, but surviving the sympathy of his friends may just prove the end of him.

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awe, aren't they cute:)

-please review!


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N_ READ THIS NOTE! PREPARE TO HAVE YOUR MINDS BLOWN! (AND HOW MANY OF YOU CAUGHT ON TO AGENTS OF SHIELD AND TAHITI? GOOD JOB!_**_  
_

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**Bagel Thursday**

_PeechTao_

_Chapter 11_

Bagel Thursday. So much had happened between this Bagel Thursday and the last, making the day a bitter sweet reminder of everything it stood for. Change. Clint and Coulson first met in a Dunkin Doughnuts years before over his morning bagel. That day Clint decided to become a SHIELD agent. It was the day his life changed forever. He met one of the most influential men he would ever come to know and he got a job that not only appreciated his skills but challenged him like none other before. Thursday he was reminded of that moment. It was Bagel Thursday. The day he grounded himself back to the root of his life. Of course it was never quite the same after Coulson died. Ever since getting that news, Clint could be sitting in his bunk, a restaurant, or a little corner of Bagdad and his mind would relive the death of his mentor. It was good to share the day with others, whether they understood the significance or not. It was even more important now when his life was threatening to change forever. If he could still have Bagel Thursday, then everything was going to be just fine even if some of the little logistics of it had to change.

"Bruce and Tony texted me this. Bruce needs a coffee with as much espresso as possible. He was awake for the past three days finishing projects with me. Tony needs food." Clint passed his phone to Steve and indicted where on the screen it held their orders. "I want a salt bagel with pineapple cream cheese toasted. It better be toasted enough, not just waved under and easy bake heat lamp either."

"You order your own food, Clint." Natasha told him, laughing.

Clint didn't catch her words at first so Steve tapped him (accurately) and Natasha repeated herself. Clint, however, was serious. "But, no. I mean, it's hard to. The tellers never look right at you and then they ask me questions and I don't know what's going on and if they don't have it, then I don't know what to do. Please?"

At that statement, how could she refuse? She filed the statement away in the back of her mind. In the future, she realized this may be happening more often.

Steve stepped up and put their order in and the three went to a corner booth to sit down and wait. The bagel shop was slightly packed at this time of the morning. Business men, street artists, and students steadily flowed in through the doors until most of the restaurant was brimming. It wasn't long, though, before the girl was calling them over. Missing her entirely, Clint continued to sit and stair out the window to the New York streets. Instead Steve and Natasha got up and retrieved their food.

:(:):(:):

Bagel Thursday. He always thought it was a funny little nostalgia to hang on to, but even when Agent Barton wasn't around, Coulson found it hard to break himself of the habit. Barton and he had been stationed in the middle of some difficult situations in their many year history but no matter what happeneD, they always managed to do something for Bagel Thursday. One time it was croissants with camel butter which made both of them horribly ill, another it was deep fried doughnuts and cream cheese frosting. Clint would point out that at least the cream cheese fit. If Barton was away on a mission he would send a little encrypted message to his SHIELD handler asking: "Are you eating a bagel right now?" Usually Coulson was.

It was difficult leaving a lot of the people he knew and loved in Sector 6 of SHIELD. He'd started a new life, with a new team, and a level of security clearance that he'd literally died and gone to heaven for. He knew the Avengers were stationed in New York, how could they not be when Tony wouldn't leave Stark Tower? Given that his recent mission had Coulson at the Sector 7 New York office, he knew the likelihood of him running into one of the Avengers was a little higher. Never did he expect that walking into a bagel shop on Thursday morning that he would see Clint Barton. His former protégé and lifelong friend was sitting solo in a booth by the window. Without thinking, Coulson called his name. He was so surprised to see him that SHIELD formality went right out the window. But Clint didn't turn toward him. It could have been expected, the place was relatively busy. Coulson looked around to scan the area. Natasha and Steve were on the other side of the room, engaged in what seemed like a heated discussion on the proper toasting of a pineapple and salt bagel. Like a pain that wouldn't go away, Coulson realized that the order belonged to Clint. Why wasn't Clint himself up there making a hassle? He was so particular why was he giving the reigns up to Natasha? Even Steve? Barton looked happily oblivious to everything as he just sat there and stared off into space.

While Coulson didn't want to spill the beans for everyone, he suddenly desperately wanted Clint to know he was there. It didn't make any sense. He was an agent, he was not nostalgic towards people the way he was with his car. But the world was some how different now. This was still happening. It was their Bagel Thursday. Like twins separated at birth they'd arrived at the same place at the same time for this purpose. So he sat in the booth directly behind Clint with a newspaper up in some 1950s detective version of hiding his features.

Over his shoulder Coulson whispered to his friend. "Clint? Agent Barton, it's me. Just turn around slightly, but not too fast."

Clint remained in his own private world. Coulson knew he'd spoken loud enough for the Avenger to hear him. Risking everything he half turned in his seat to see the agent's back. Barton was looking intently at something out the window. Coulson said his name again, louder.

From across the restaurant Steve called out for Clint as well. Coulson turned at the sound in time to watch as Natasha punched Captain Rogers in the gut which probably hurt her more than it did him. They finished at the counter and approached, having solved their toasting problems. Neither of them was speaking. Coulson ducked just before they came and hid his face in a fit of coughing. They sat down, both across from Clint.

Natasha said. "You're right, toasting trouble. You ok?"

"Fine. We eating here or back at the Tower?"

"Let's head back, Bruce can't get stuck with a reheated coffee." Steve suggested.

"Lead the way." Clint slid out of the booth behind them. He suddenly remembered something by the counter and broke off to get it. Steve and Natasha made it to the door before they realized he wasn't with them. At first Natasha called for him but Steve smacked her for it. She clocked him back. Together they waited for Clint to find his way back to them, this time with-

Coulson knew without looking. It was two packets of white sugar. Clint would go back to the Tower, peal the two halves of his bagel apart, and then pour the sugar on either half. With a lighter, blowtorch, Coulson had even seen him use a match once, Clint would caramelize the sugar and eat each half one at a time. The smell was horrendous, but it made him happy. Coulson was never brave enough to endure the taste. The three left. Coulson watched them circle the coffee shop until they passed not far from his own window. A cabby honked its way through an intersection, Steve yanked Clint out of its path. A look of concern passed between Natasha and he. Clint was smiling. Happy and undamaged.

Coulson caught a sight out of the corner of his window. While he sat, Clint's focus had been on a man on the street corner. The man was sitting on a cardboard box with an upturned trashcan pounding away at an unrecognizable tune. Clint had been fixated watching the man. Coulson had a small idea why. It wasn't necessarily anything Clint did, it was what he didn't do. Before he made a decision on it, he had to confirm his suspicions.

Suddenly Coulson wasn't hungry any longer. He left the restaurant and climbed into his waiting signature car. He needed to know what was going on with his team, and he wanted to know that now.

The current SHIELD bolt hole was stationed only a few blocks down the other side of town. It took Coulson no time to manage his way through traffic and he arrived to his team all ready at their places. He'd given a call ahead, a very brief indication of the things he required finished by the time he arrived and he was happy to find them accomplished.

Agent Melinda May was parked on a revolving chair, watching the nerd pair Simmons and Fritz fumbling around each other to set up their technology hardware. Agent Ward was propping up a wall to keep out of their way. Their new hacker, Skye, was sitting on the floor with her laptop propped on her knees typing frantically.

As Coulson pulled the door to the temporary SHIELD station open, the Skye was the first to address him. "Pulling up the satellite data now. No encryptions. Didn't you say their would be encryptions?"

Coulson shrugged. "I wasn't sure. May? Ward?"

The agents straightened to attention.

"Both of you take a break for a while. Enjoy the sights." Coulson told them, hiking a thumb at the door. He was the senior agent, so back talk was unlikely.

Apparently, it was not impossible. Ward was the first to bark back. "Wait, we don't get to look at this? You call up with a super important video file we need to hack and we can't watch?"

Coulson fixed him with a rigid gaze. "No. Walk."

His disappointment difficult to hide, Ward took off. Melinda followed behind him. Though she didn't say it, her curiosity was piqued. When both agents had gone out, Coulson nodded toward Fritz and Simmons. "The two of you are not official field officers and therefore have no responsibility to turn over the evidence you may soon witness. Do you understand? Skye, this doesn't apply to you, you are an outside consultant."

Both Fritz and Simmons exchanged furtive glances.

"I need you to agree." Coulson said. "If you don't feel it within your duty to do that, you can follow Agents May and Ward. If you do stay it must be under the strictest confidence. You must not share the information we find now. Is that understood?"

Not knowing what else to do, and too excited now to consider being excluded from top secret information, Fritz and Simmons agreed. Coulson went on.

"The image rendering I've asked you for corresponds to the date and location of Captain Steve Rogers, Agent Clint Barton and Mr. Tony Stark's latest mission. By the coordinates you know that mission was in Egypt and yes, it was all over the news. SHIELD will not claim involvement given the high stakes region and it was confirmed that a modified weapon once owned by Stark technology was in the region. Stark heard about the information and volunteered the team. It was on our plate originally but Stark took it over. Skye is that satellite feed running?"

Skye flicked a few keys on her laptop and the image was sent to the central console's rendering system. The SHIELD bolt hole was rather small. Having a full three dimensional scene was difficult, so Fritz worked to shrink the satellite feed to a more managable size. A miniature battlefield appeared at their feet.

Coulson stooped down to see better.

"Any clearer satellite feeds, Skye?" Coulson asked.

She shrugged. "I'm using SHIELD's war bird as it is. All the other country satellites were turned in the wrong direction for some _strange_ reason."

Simmon's crouched down as well. "I guess the mission was top secret enough. What are we looking for, Sir?"

Coulson nodded to Skye and ignored Simmons. "Play it forward. Slow it down too. I want everything from before the explosion and before the strike team was called."

Skye adjusted the information and the four silently watched an overhead view of a sandy desert waste. First appeared a slew of assailants running into the frame. The SHIELD camera angle adjusted, giving a full view of the men's faces for ID recognition. Then, the team of Avengers showed. The scene played as the miniature men reenacted the events that would forever change one agent's life and adjust dramatically those of his friends. Coulson watched, mesmerized as Clint moved skillfully. That pride Coulson felt seeing his agents in action swelled in him now. At first he thought perhaps he was wrong. Maybe he fabricated the entire oddity of Clint's behavior. Maybe Clint was doing him a favor by not looking at him. Maybe Clint was trying to keep Phil's cover under wraps. The scene changed. The three Avengers dropped. The video footage went fuzzy but returned again. It was difficult to see just what was happening.

"Fritz enlarge this, I want to see what Agent Barton is doing, cut the others out." Coulson instructed.

The girl straightened and brought up her tablet. With a few flicks, they had a zoomed in version of a silent Clint Barton. He was reeling against the ground, screaming in agony from the effects of the sonic weapon.

"That looks like it sucks." Skye said. "Can I just say, any time the spandex squad wants to take over one of these missions from us they can just go ahead and do it?"

"Can I ask what you are looking for, sir?" Fritz asked.

Coulson watched the image play on. The SHIELD jet flying recon continued to focus and unfocus depending on what part of its surveillance arc it was flying. What resulted was a series of cluttered playbacks. Fritz worked to string them together in a more legible account.

Clint on the ground. Clint in pain. Clint's arrow close by. A zoom out to the scene. Everyone was down. The assailants raising their guns. In moments it would be over. Then Clint, getting up, inexplicably unaffected. Awake now. Aware now. Pulling arrows. Downing men. Saving the day.

"You said he was a top agent, but wow. Hey, can I save a picture of this so I can watch it on replay later?" Skye piped up.

"No." Coulson replied firmly. "Wipe the data. Figure out who has a copy of this and burn it. I want all evidence destroyed, no copies, and not even in that private file you have on your second hard drive."

Skye raised an eyebrow.

Simmons crossed her arms. "Um, I know we've all been sort of sworn to secrecy and all that, but can I ask what this is all about?"

Coulson turned toward the back of the building and the small office he'd arranged there. "No you can't. Wipe that data."

Coulson shut the door behind himself and collapsed into the chair behind his desk.

Deaf.

Coulson felt the pit of his stomach drop. Sonic devices and Clint's private arsenal of arrow tips were a recipe for disaster. Clint wasn't fluid yet. He wasn't adjusted to the disability._ Disability._ The word caught in his throat like a rotten apple. His Clint Barton. His agent. His friend. Something terrible had happened to Clint and Coulson wasn't there waiting at the end of it to tell him it would be all right. He should have been sent instead. His team should have been the ones there. SHIELD needed the best, brightest, fully capable individuals out there. If Director Fury got wind of this like Coulson was mandated to report on, then Clint ran the risk of getting scrubbed out. Coulson knew exactly what that would mean. He'd seen it happen enough and always did what he could to spare his team from that sort of result. Clint had always, always, been fixable after a mission. If the Director found this out he'd be off the Avenger initiative. He wasn't even supposed to be part of the mission to begin with, but his skills put him in that position and Coulson knew that little secret more than anyone else. Tony might try to use his influence to spare Clint's life but he couldn't protect the agent forever. Someone would get to him and there would be nothing the Avengers could do to prevent it.

Sending Ward and May away spared Clint for now. May might give Clint a pass out of professional courtesy. Clint had saved her life often enough in the field to develop a level of irrevocable respect. Even the events of the Helicarrier couldn't dispel that. Ward? Now that was a different problem. Ward generally was that angel of death. He had been the cause of enough Agents impromptu "retirements". Ward would enjoy getting a mission to scrub out Clint. He'd held a grudge against Barton ever since the Avengers promotion. Ward, like a lot of agents who didn't know the truth behind Clint's qualifications, resented him for it.

But Clint _was_ still alive. He was happy for now, safe for now. Coulson had to do something before the truth came out. He _could_ do something. He had a Level 7 clearance and all file access to the Avengers mission backgrounds. He was going to do something he'd never considered before in his long career as a loyal field operative. If it saved Clint's life, then it was worth his own.

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So everyone who was looking for some Agents of Shield, maybe even a little Coulson surprise: HERE YOU ARE! I am SOOOOOO excited for these next few chapters. get ready to blow your socks off cause coming up next: Clint's secret is out!

-Keep on reviewing! I want to know what you think!


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N_ SOOOOO excited to see what you think of this!_**_  
_

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**Bagel Thursday**

_PeechTao_

_Chapter 12_

Melinda May stood in the alley looking up to the sky. She had very little interest in what Ward was planning, but didn't feel like taking off either. "You know, one of these days Coulson's going to catch you spying and make you disappear for a while."

Ward threw her a glare. "Aw, come on. You can't tell me it's not killing you to know what Phil's keeping from us."

"I know that curiosity gets you in trouble." May replied. "And that spying on a spy is a little redundant."

Ward ignored her, pulling up the button camera he planted inside the bolt hole. The live feed over his smart phone was grainy at best. He hadn't expected on needing a quality image and after viewing some of the contents he found nothing to get over enthusiastic about. "Don't get what the big deal is. So SHIELD was the one who blew up Egypt. Big whoop."

May glanced at the screen. "We did that? I know the Avengers took our mission over. Some bang."

Ward scoffed.

"What?"

He passed the phone to her. Clint Barton was on the screen.

"Looks like golden boy got himself in trouble." Ward said. He laughed a little to himself. "Serves him right. Guy rubs me wrong. Did you hear he wasn't even supposed to be on that team? I was. I was more qualified. He goes and gets himself possessed by some Asgard crazy and suddenly he's living the high life."

May passed the phone back. "Rings of jealousy."

"Jealous nothing. My friends were on that Helicarrier when Barton blew it up. If it was me under Loki juju I would have snapped myself out of it."

"Sure you say that. I was _on_ the Helicarrier. If Barton wanted to kill us all, really kill us all, he would have. He had a clean shot at Fury and missed, he only took out one turbine and not all four. He didn't even storm the bridge."

"You just say that cause you're one of those Hawkeye groupies."

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not going to answer that. If I did, you wouldn't be moving for three weeks."

Ward went stiff. At first Melinda assumed her threat actually made a dent in his thick head but seeing that he was hardly paying attention to her all the change in his mood made even her curious. Pangs of alert hit her from all the tension in his shoulders and the momentary spite she held for him disappeared. Apparently he had seen something Coulson planned on them not witnessing. But rather than explain to to her, Ward switched off his phone and shoved it in his pocket. He took off without a word, stalking down the alley.

"Hey, what's going on?" May asked.

Ward lost himself in the throngs of people milling up and down 5th Avenue before she could devise to run after him.

May knew something was wrong. Seriously wrong. She returned to the private entrance of the SHIELD bolt hole and disappeared inside. Not seeing Coulson immediately, she knew he retreated to the office. She called his name once Coulson, slammed a fist against his door and let herself in talking all the while. "Agent Coulson?! Sir? Sorry, I know, look Ward just took off. He was listening in and-"

Coulson leaped out of his chair.

"I don't know what he saw. I'm sorry, he just ran off. Didn't say where. Didn't say anything. What's going on?"

Coulson rarely cursed, but little prevented him now from uttering a stray oath under his breath. He left his makeshift office in a huff, barking orders as he walked. "Skye, get on the traffic cameras and track Ward down. Fritz scramble your drones; send a few out to buzz him in the face. If they can taze him, do that. Simmon's scramble his phone signal prevent him from calling SHIELD directly. Actually, do a city-wide blackout radius around his location. I don't want him stealing a cell phone and using that instead. May, stay here."

"Sir!" Melinda objected.

Coulson turned on her, more fury in his eyes then she'd ever seen in Phil before.

"No! I give the order. You stay here. I'm going to get Ward back here if I have to shoot him in the leg to do it. If I hear anyone radioed back to HQ then that person will join Ward on the hospital." Coulson snatched a radio mic from the table and his pistol and left, slamming the door behind him.

:(:):(:):

When Clint agreed to leave the Tower it was under the general assumption he'd be better off in the company of friends. After actually going out with Natasha and Steve, he came to the belief that he was very, very wrong. Between poles, people, cars, and road signs he expected to return to Stark Tower in nothing short of ten pieces. Those ten pieces were to soon be consumed by the likes of the ever present bodies shoved around the Stark Tower entrance. They had a variety of names from cosplay queens, to Stark Bunnies, Avenger Groupies, and then the more mild and curious of the bunch. In the end the people dressed from spandex, leather, and green always proved to be an impenetrable barrier when returning home at certain times of the day. Weekdays were usually less bustling but not this particular weekday.

"No." Natasha said before anyone could ask. "We are not going through the throng of cosplay weirdoes."

Steve held his hands out to show he wasn't about to object.

They took a side alley and prepared to make the loop around the back of Stark Tower. It would take longer, but it was a better option than taking their chances at the front door.

"So much for warm coffee." Clint said, grinning.

They turned down the next side street and headed toward the far block. A few of the Stark Bunny stragglers hung down the back streets, but they were few. Instead other dwellers of the daytime took to the sidewalks for the morning New York Grind. Roach Coaches had their hotdogs, shwarma, and Gyros heating and steaming up the place with their exotic scents. The pretzel guy on the corner was lining up his mustard with one hand and making change with the other. Steve worried that they may lose Clint in the traffic flowing back and forth, so he glanced back often to be sure he was keeping up. This attention caused him to miss kid that suddenly shoved into the side of him before taking off down the street.

"Hey!" Natasha yelled after the runner.

Steve fished into his pocket, coming up without his wallet.

"Seriously?" Natasha groaned.

"What's going on?" Clint asked, looking between them.

Steve ran off after the pick pocket. Natasha shoved her coffee and food into Clint's hands.

"Wallet thief, stay here." She ran off after Steve.

The SHIELD archer stood there holding three coffees and two bags full of bagels wondering how in the world he turned into the guy left behind on a run. He was most certainly _not_ going to sit there and wait for them to come back and get him. Instead he started up the street again after the back entrance. It was a little tedious balancing three coffees but he took his time, stayed aware for random cars at the intersections, and was a few steps from the Tower when suddenly someone grabbed him from behind. Clint flew off balance. The coffees and bagels went flying and Clint was thrown into the side of the Tower. Rough hands tore against his shirt and shoved him to the ground. The man picked him up again and before Clint could right himself a fist connected with his face. Again he was lifted and this time dragged off down the side of the Tower base. They were in a small alley now. Secluded and alone.

Clint was able to clear his head enough to get a look at the man who had him. At first he could only see a dark black suit and thin black tie and for a strange moment he was overcome thinking that it was somehow Agent Coulson. But that was impossible, and even if it was it made no sense to currently be kicked around by him. Then Clint got a look at the man's face and his deep seated fear came bursting out.

"Agent Ward." Clint said, shocked.

Ward threw him off, satisfied when Clint crashed backward into a tall green dumpster. "Agent Barton. Oh, wait, that's right you probably can't hear me can you?"

Clint pushed himself up, wiping the blood now flowing down his chin. "Don't know what you're going on about, Ward. What's wrong? Bored over in that hole of yours?"

"You can try and play that lip reading crap with me, Barton, but it's not going to fly. You know SHIELD doesn't carry dead weight. Deaf Agent? Deaf Avenger? Now that's a laugh!"

"Laugh all you want. You've got it wrong. Did Director Fury send you out here? Or did you look me up for old revenge sake?"

Ward shrugged, straightening the cuffs of his coat before pulling it off and loosening his tie. "Way I see it this has been a long time coming. You caught a break getting Stark in your back pocket, but Stark aint here is he? No Hulk, No super soldier and no Agent Romanov. It's just you, me, and this little thing called getting scrubbed out."

Clint rolled his shoulders to loosen them. "What? Not going to shoot me? And what makes you think I need anyone to back me up?"

"Don't play me, Barton." Ward said. "This is it. Between you and me. And let me tell you, you aren't the first agent I've had to drop. You all say the same thing. Deny, deny, then . . . well . . . you just die."

Ward rushed forward, baiting Clint toward him before backing off and coming up with a right hook. Clint took it on the cheek but used to momentum to swing around with a foot and knocked Ward's head sideways. Ward grabbed Clint's leg and twisted him hard against a wall back first. Clint pulled his leg to his chest, and Ward with it, until they were close enough for Clint to sock him in the chest, then the kidney, and lastly the face. Ward raised a knee into Clint's nose, but as Clint went down, he threw a punch forward, crunching between Ward's legs. They were both on their knees now. Ward head-butted Barton. Clint's skull reverberated off the wall. The agent fell sideways, his brain swimming in dizziness. He groped for a hand hold to drag Ward down with him, but he was met with something else. First it was Ward's gun. The butt snapped his head to the side with the force of the blow. Clint wanted to call out the dirty move, but currently he was running into unconsciousness.

The agent leaned over him. Switching out his gun for his knife. He looked riled up enough. His lip and eyebrow were split in half. Clint, in the edge of his mind not pounding to Pachelbel's Cannon, felt a little pride in that.

"Nothing personal, Barton." Ward said. "We all know you're a screw up. All those men you killed on the Helicarrier? Yeah I don't think their friends in the agency are going to mind this much."

Clint lifted his knees, trying to dislodge Ward from over top him. The knife came down. He felt his head split against the uneven pavement of the abandoned Stark alleyway and Clint's vision faded to black.

:(:):(:):

"Figures Clint wouldn't wait." Natasha told Steve. "No sense going back to look for him, He's probably already inside torching his bagel by now."

Steve nodded. He shoved his wallet back into his pocket as they returned back toward Stark's place. They left the pick pocket hanging from a street pole two blocks away. "Yeah, you're probably right." He said. They were closer to the back door then where they'd left Clint, so they pulled the access open to slip inside. They waved their security passes to the officer.

"Hiding through the back way?" the officer said, smiling.

"Just trying to get to breakfast before Clint eats it all." Steve replied.

The man accessed the elevator for them and ferried the Avengers on. "Well, should be along soon I imagine. If I see him I'll be sure to protect the lot."

Natasha threw a hand out to prevent the elevator door from closing. "Didn't he come through already?"

The man shook his head. "Doubt it, not unless you expected him before my shift and that was near an hour ago."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Leave him for a minute and he does something stupid. Like actually waiting where you told him to." She got off the elevator stopping Steve before he followed. There wasn't much Steve needed to go along for nothing more that picking Clint up and walking a few coffees back. To make her point, Natasha hit the button on the elevator and set Steve up and on his way. She left through the same door and headed out into the street again. She looked ahead to try and pick out Clint's head among the passersby but was surprised that in the thinning populace she was unable to find him. Her steps were caught up short by a sight on the ground. Three spilled coffee cups from a familiar shop and two bags of food. Natasha looked around on full alert. Why would Clint leave? Was he dragged off? Did SHIELD know? Natasha's heart skipped beats in her chest. She searched around desperately, gripping one of nearly a dozen weapons she had hidden on her person. Must likely extraction point? The alley, the overhang, the shut-up building across the street, the back of the Perling Store on the corner, these were the simple places she knew to look for instantly. Give her options she went for the closest, the overhang, first. It took her only a minute to realize no one had been dragged there and moved on to the alley beside Stark Tower. It was half blocked off by a tall metal gate, the other side hung open. She slipped inside. Directly behind the gate was a stack of discarded cardboard near as high as herself. Beyond it metal scraps and trash blowing in the breeze of the two tall buildings flanking either side of the pass way. She pressed forward, circling a large green dumpster.

She found him!

Natasha was moving on sheer adrenaline. Seeing Clint flopped limply on his side with a suited man standing over him triggered her instant response. She struck out with one leg, caught the man in the chest and sent him flying like a soccer ball. The suit hit the side of Stark Tower with an_ oof_!

"Clint!" Natasha exclaimed, leaning down to him in horror. "Clint, wake up! Clint—"

"He can't hear you, Natasha."

Romanov turned on the man in the suit, meaning to silence him forever for what he'd done to Barton but sheer shock sent her reeling back. She stayed, protectively standing over her fallen partner but focused on the newcomer.

"It—it can't be—"

Phil Coulson got to his feet, rubbing a hand over his chest from where she'd hit him. "Still got a nice kick on you." He said wincing.

Natasha remained like a frozen deer staring into the face of a ghost.

Phil held a hand outstretched toward her. "Now, before you say anything, the answer is no."

"What?" she asked, her head spinning.

"No I am not dead. No I did not do this to Hawk. Do you know Agent Ward?"

Natasha brought a hand up to her face to rub the mirage from in front of her eyes, but still Phil persisted before her. Should she attempt a conversation? "Yes, I know Ward. He and Clint have a grudge match."

"More than that." Coulson told him. He looked first down one alleyway and then another to check that they were still alone. "Look, I don't really have time to explain everything and I wasn't supposed to be here at all. Honesty now? I saw the three of you in the restaurant. Bagel Thursday was always Clint and my thing first. I could tell he was injured. I reviewed the film footage from Egypt. I saw what he did. I've since destroyed that footage. Ward is on my new team. He disobeyed orders to get that information and I trailed him here to stop him."

Romanov looked down at Clint's prone body. Phil saving him was somehow completely appropriate. Phil was always saving them, even when they didn't know he was there watching.

"Stark working on this?" Coulson asked.

Natasha nodded. "Bruce too."

Coulson smiled some. It hurt her to see that look but at the same time it brought memories back of better times. "I always thought they would get along. Captain Rogers?"

"Staying in the Tower, with the rest of us. Has an apartment if he wants it. Sometimes he goes there."

"Across Central Park, know" Coulson confirmed. She wouldn't ask how it was he knew. "And Barton?"

Natasha leaned down to check her partner but a word from Coulson stopped her.

"He's ok. I made sure. He's going to have a headache larger than Stark's ego, but he'll be all right. I think it may be better he not know I was here."

"He's doing ok with us." She reported to him. "He's staying with all of us. Tony, him, they're like two kids in a bouncy castle most days. Clint would do anything for him. Tony's the same way."

Coulson's smile widened. "It's better than I could have thought. I knew you'd be fine, Natasha. You're smart, brave, been on your own long enough to know how to get on. Clint . . . You know I never got to see him? You know what the last thing I ever said to him was?"

Natasha shook her head slightly. "He never told me that."

"It was the day Loki came through the portal. The day he took off with him and I had to make the call to bring everyone in. It was a Thursday funny how that works. The last thing I ever said to Clint was, "don't forget, it's Bagel Thursday." You see, he was always telling me. It was the first time I got the jump on him. I never saw him again. I watch the mission briefs once in a while, to check up on him. But I never got to see him again after Loki." Coulson looked both ways again, as if waiting for either Ward to reappear or a SHIELD hit squad. "I shouldn't stay much longer. Look, don't worry about him getting cut. This is the only time you will see an agent against you over this. I'll take care of the SHIELD end. Just make sure Stark gets him together again."

"How are you going to possibly do that?"

"Don't ask me that." Phil said. "I need to go. I dragged out that bone-head agent of mine and dropped him in Lola. He's probably blood staining my seats now."

"Lola? You still have her?" Natasha asked, smiling.

Phil moved forward, setting a hand on her shoulder. "Take care of them for me. I'm sorry about all this."

"I understand it." Natasha said.

Phil moved away. "Good bye, Natasha."

Natasha watched him go, her eyes following after him. "Goodbye," she whispered.

Beneath her Clint shifted. He groaned as he began to come slightly around. Natasha watched the last traces of Phil Coulson turn away from the alley and disappear into the streets before she returned to Clint's fallen form. He groaned again, his arms coming up over his face.

"Ow." He mumbled. "I'm alive, I think."

Natasha pulled his arms down to look at the raised bruises and broken edges of his marred face. "Some week you've had." She told him.

Clint blinked his eyes up at her. "Hey, weren't you just a six foot white guy?"

She smiled. "You idiot. I said you wouldn't survive a day, didn't I?"

He held his fingers against her lips. "Double." He said. "Seeing double. No idea what you're saying."

"Can you stand?" Natasha moved away, grabbed his hands in hers and tugged. He understood the meaning and shakily made it to his feet. Natasha hooked an arm around his back and chest. His arm remained over her neck.

"Snuck up on me." Clint said, slowly making his way forward. "I'm thinking that pick pocket was staged. Ward was never too bright. Should have seen it coming. Hey, what did you do with him?" He looked over at her but didn't wait for an answer. "No, don't tell me. Last thing I remember was almost getting my heart cut out. I'm fine not knowing. Not that I could hear you tell me anyway. I want to get home now. And I want my bagel. I want to sit on the couch _listen_ to the TV and eat a crappy bagel."

"I'll go back out and get some replacements." Natasha said. She sighed when she remembered he wouldn't hear it.

They made it unaccosted back to the Stark Tower entrance. The guard let them in and called the elevator down for them, inquiring frantically whether or not Clint would require a hospital. Natasha sent him away, instead assuring him that Bruce was more than adequate to play doctor. Clint admitted it may be prudent to go for Bruce now rather than wait. It was surely to be a surprise for the doctor in either case. Natasha agreed.

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-EEP! I'm so excited for this and the next chapter. hope you liked!

Review!


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N_ this ones a little shorter, but expect some more Coulson to come!_**_  
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**Bagel Thursday**

_PeechTao_

_Chapter 13_

There was a veritable silent war waging in the lab when Natasha and Clint walked in off the elevator. Silent only to Clint, that is. From Bruce's music player came the cords by _2 Cellos_ flowing in dashing crescendo to "Smooth Criminal". From Tony's end the _Black Sabbath _version of Iron Man (an ego trip if ever on existed). The combination of the two polar songs created a range of aural assault so profound Natasha was unsure how either man was working effectively. It was no surprise then that both were so consumed in work and music that they missed Natasha's entry. Clint picked up Tony's discarded repulser and tossed it across the room at them. The science pair instantly switched off their dueling musical prowess. One look at Clint, and they dropped everything to run to his side. They were wearing a cochlear-like device and took a moment to pluck a set of plugs out of their ears.

"Sorry, we were testing the sound quality." Bruce said. "I didn't hear you come in. What happened? Clint, did someone hit you with a car?"

"What's he saying?" Clint asked Natasha.

"Trouble seeing. A SHIELD agent just tried to beat his brains in." Natasha explained.

"Oh my God, you weren't kidding about that?" Tony asked.

Natasha shot him a look. "Really? Yeah, we joke about that plenty."

"Sit him down. Clint, put this on. Can you hear me? Good. Tony, pass me that light from the desk. JARVIS turn down the overheads. What did he hit you with, a brick?" Bruce grabbed the light from Tony's hands and tested Clint's reflexes with it.

"His fist feels like a brick. And he's got a hard head too. And he cheated. I think he had a tazor. Then there was the knife he stabbed me with and the gun he slapped me with. I did punch him in the Twinkies though."

"You got stabbed?!" Bruce started yanking up Clint's shirt.

Natasha snorted, but tried not to show it. Honestly dirty fighting she considered mainly appropriate for only herself. When Clint resorted to it (and Ward no less), the situation must have been either personal, or dire. In this case most likely both. But then she did have more on her mind than just picking Clint's half beaten to death body off the ground.

Coulson. Not only did she now come to find he was alive, but that meant the Avengers Initiative was founded on another of Director Fury's spy schemes. He'd deceived all of them. It wasn't the first time. But this was more than that. Coulson had touched all of their lives. He'd glued them together as friends and dare say even family. How could she possibly not tell them this?

No. Clint had to keep his secret and she kept her own. Tony could never deal with this lie, especially after his reaction to Clint's. Steve would probably never have faith in another human ever again. Bruce? Bruce would run off to some lonely place. Clint would disappear to obscurity for all of time.

"Tasha?"

She looked over. "Oh? What?"

Clint was smiling at her. The lights were turned up again and Bruce was inspecting the larger breaks in his chest.

"I said what did you do with Ward? I didn't even see him around."

"I shot him and threw him in the street. I hope a truck ran him over. Maybe he got carried off by some dogs. Either way he's not coming back."

"What are we going to do, though? SHIELD knows now. It won't be long before it all comes out."

"You never know. Maybe something will turn up. In the meantime, it _is_ Bagel Thursday. And I want a bagel now that we've lost the originals." She turned with a light wave. "I'm going to go grab Steve and try this all over again."

: ( : ) : ( : ) :

When Natasha and Steve returned from the second attempt at completing Bagel Thursday, they found the science twins and Clint parked in the living room. Clint was lying on the floor with a pillow beneath his head and a bag of ice over his face. A second bag of ice was on his chest. He waved at their entry, leading them to believe he must be wearing one of the new cochlear devices.

"What happened got sick of the lab?" Natasha asked, dropping breakfast on the coffee table. She handed Bruce a coffee.

"Clint was. We felt a little strange about leaving him up here by himself." Bruce admitted.

Natasha understood his meaning. Bruce and Tony were afraid that if they left Clint alone, unprotected, that they may come back to see a dead body. Though Natasha trusted Coulson with everything in life, she had to admit the thought crossed her mind. The others knew nothing about Phil secretly working to solve their little SHIELD problem. In general a little extra caution was well worth it.

Steve tapped Clint's foot, spurring the pained Avenger to pull the bag away from his face. At the sight of his Steve shook his head. "Wow, looks like someone took a Louisville to your face."

Clint cocked a lopsided grin passed his swollen lip. "Feels like that. You know he stabbed me? Right here." Clint lifted the second ice pack to show off the new set of mummy gauze around his chest.

Steve handed Clint his food. "You really were serious, huh?"

"Why is everyone so surprised at that? Now you get why I didn't go around sharing?" Clint unwrapped his food then fished the two packets of sugar from the bottom of the bag Natasha was kind enough to remember. He wobbled his way up to his feet and headed to the kitchen to finish making his perfect Thursday breakfast.

"I just can't believe it." Steve said when Clint was far enough away not to hear him. "Is this what SHIELD does? I can't just stand here and let this keep happening."

"Don't worry." Tony piped up as he chewed. "I'll just build a moat."

"Somehow I doubt that's going to help."

"After I fill it with sharks and crocodiles I think it'll help plenty."

Steve motioned to Natasha. "Should we move him? For a little while until this heat dies down?"

"Where? I doubt there's a place here more impenetrable than Stark's lab. Even without a moat." She replied. "Besides. After it happened I gave a call to someone I know on the inside of the intelligence circuit. Let me see what he can do first."

"You think he can help?"

"If he can't, then we better start arranging for a closed casket."

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Review! only about 2 chapters left!


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N_ ONE CHAPTER LEFT!_**_  
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**Bagel Thursday**

_PeechTao_

_Chapter 14_

His office back on the bus was general referred to as "the hub". It may not be quite as official as everything else in the Sector 7 headquarters, but it held just enough authority to make him respected. After all, this was the man that triggered the chain reaction leading to the Avengers assembly, he had survived decades of active field work, and he had even survived being stabbed in the chest with a Chitauri scepter. Phil Coulson, his office, and his possessions were things to be respected and treasured. His friends were included.

Sitting behind his desk, Phil worked on the finishing touches of his document alteration software. Fritz had finished its programming after a personal request. All that was left to Phil was a simple point and click rearrangement.

The memory of Clint Barton sitting in that bagel shop, completely deaf, hurt him in ways very few things could. Coulson left the Avengers detail hoping his actions pulled a team together. Finding out later that it also gave a home to Agents Barton and Romanov was more than he could have ever wanted. They were his elite, his friends, and in some ways his kids.

Coulson always held a special concern over Clint. He remembered being there at the beginning, seeing Clint leaving that courthouse with nothing but the clothes on his back and ten dollars in his pocket. He didn't even have a bow anymore; the cops had confiscated it and refused to return it. He was such a kid then. A cheeky, brash, hurt kid with nothing left in the world but himself. When Coulson met him he didn't just see the potential hiding behind the awkward kid. He saw the pain left by years of not knowing who he was supposed to be.

After the events at the SHIELD base, learning that his top agent had been changed so profoundly by Loki was one of the worst experiences in his life. The feeling of failure was almost incurable. But Clint found his way. He integrated himself so profoundly in the band of Avengers.

There was little Coulson could do in person for his agent (Clint would always be considered _his_ agent) but there was plenty he could do to safeguard Clint's position in the SHIELD network. Using his new background software, Coulson spent the better part of the next few days rearranging a few documents and health progress sheets while systematically losing others. He had access to the mainframe as a Level 7 operative and therefore could do virtually everything he wanted.

A light knock came to his office door, interrupting his work. Coulson dropped his files to the bottom of his screen and asked the person to come in. He was only a little surprised to see it was Agent Ward.

They hadn't spoken much personally since Coulson tracked the man down to the little side alley in New York. It was the closest Coulson had come to the Stark Tower since just before his near death experience and the weight of that was difficult to bare. His purpose, though, kept him singularly on target.

Fritz's directions were flawless, per usual. Coulson came up on Ward just as he slammed Clint to the ground and brought the knife down. Fearing the worst, Coulson fired first, on target, with zero reservation. Warning shots weren't necessarily his style anyway.

Ward acted as expected when a man is shot in the gluteus Maximus. His upper half shot up, out of any possible danger range to Clint who made it easier for Coulson to pick the man up and throw him to the side.

"WHAT THE HELL!" Ward roared at him, holding a hand to the sharp pain in his behind.

But Coulson didn't let him say more than that before he dragged the man to his feet and shoved his stumbling, shocked form in the direction of his car. "If you don't get in my car in two seconds I'll shoot you again. Do you want that?"

"But—"

Coulson physically dragged the agent until they reached the end of the alley. His car was there waiting and with little reservation he picked Ward up by the shoulders and dropped him into the back seats. "Stay!" he ordered.

"But!"

Coulson drew his gun and stuck it right in Ward's face, tempting him to complete his thought. Ward remained silent. This time, Coulson knew Ward wasn't going to keep his mouth shut. He was here with a bone to pick and Phil at least owed him something of an explanation.

The opened door brought in the sounds of the plane engines turning. They were on their way out of New York now and back to an incident in Southern California. Ward was grounded, doctor's orders, for the next few weeks. Given he'd just taken a gunshot to his left buttock, the leave was expected.

"Sir."

"Agent Ward." Coulson motioned to a chair with a smile. "Oh, wait, that's right."

"Very funny." Ward replied woundedly. "Look, can I just ask what the Hell you think you're doing?"

"No you may not." Coulson replied.

"Seriously? You shot me full of sodium pentothal that one day, and then you shoot me to prevent me from doing my job? What do you have against me and SHIELD protocol?!"

"Actually you're wrong."

Ward gave him a strained look.

"It wasn't sodium pentothal. It was a high potency derivative. I thought I explained that."

Ward yanked a chair out and flopped down into it. Then he realized his mistake and lifted himself swiftly back up only to slowly lower himself down again. He was mad, injured, and frankly frustrated that he finally had the opportunity he and a lot of other agents had been looking forward to for so long: killing Agent Barton "Look, protocol says you get maimed, you get scrubbed. What are we doing here? Protecting all the agents that don't cut it?"

Coulson leaned back in his chair. He expected this talk. Ward would keep quiet to SHIELD, he knew well enough that if he didn't Coulson had no problem opening an emergency hatch and letting the agent find his own landing less a plane or parachute. But Coulson figured he should explain himself at least a little. If nothing else it may prevent Ward from trying this stupid sort of thing again in the future.

"Do you remember Blackstone?" Coulson asked.

Ward shrugged. "Should I?"

"No. Do you know why?"

"Are you asking me why I don't know something about something I don't know?"

"You don't know about Blackstone because Agent Barton got to it before any other agent did. Blackstone was an underground movement within SHIELD's infrastructure. It took root four weeks prior to the Helicarrier attack and was demolished three days before Barton was taken by Loki. From the Tesseract base Agent Barton found nearly two hundred double agents working under the SHIELD banner secretly smuggling Phase 2 technology out of the underground base. He exposed them to Director Fury, and under orders took those agents out."

Ward's face screwed in his process of trying to understand what was happening. "What? Are you trying to tell me SHIELD was infected before Loki even showed up?"

"Level Seven security documents show that not only was Dr. Selvig under Loki's influence before the attack, but Dr. Bruce Banner as well. There are others but I won't go in to the details since you can just look that up yourself. Agent Barton, the agent you decidedly hate not only exposed this issue to Director Fury, but he was also the one who saw Loki's admittance through the portal before anyone else did. Did you know that?"

Ward shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He didn't want to admit that he had no idea what Coulson was talking about.

"I didn't think so." Coulson said. He got out of his chair and pulled a manila folder out of his desk drawer. He walked around the oak table top and handed the file to Ward. "When Clint attacked the Helicarrier, he did kill SHIELD personnel. You call them friends. I call them double agents."

Ward flipped through the file pages, hardly believing the words he was reading. Blackstone. He hadn't heard of it. Hardly anyone had. He saw the list of names, the files of the deceased SHIELD helicarrier workers and the lines drawn to the list of known Blackstone agents. They matched. He moved on, reading up on Barton's involvement. The Hawk was sent in to monitor Selvig, to watch the staff and the Phase 2 crew. After his arrival people began disappearing off the base. A list of names of those MIA, cleverly listed under base casualties in the explosion. They matched the Blackstone lists. Ward even recognized the hand writing of the initial hit list of those double agents hiding in SHIELD. It was written on the back of a cream-cheese stained piece of wax paper. The writing belonged to Clint Barton.

"Melinda May worked in logistics. She wrote those files you're holding. The men Clint killed on the Helicarrier were the last of Blackstone. He doesn't know that because he can't remember it and SHIELD thought it better not to remind anyone of the incident. Not many people were shown what you have now. Barton has enemies in the corporation. Men and women who feel he got a pass that he didn't deserve. Agents, like you, who think he's a screw up that, should have been scrubbed out a long time ago. But Barton is _my_ agent. He never killed anyone he didn't know was dirty to begin with. And Ward, if you wanted to kill Director Fury, wouldn't you just shoot him in the face? The man wears more armor than a battle tank."

"Oh my God." Ward said, turning the pages.

"That agent you hate. That one you tried to kill, SHIELD owes him more than the world will ever know. That's why he was granted the Avengers Initiative spot over you. Stark didn't pay his way in. He earned it. Keeping his cool, even under possession by an otherworldly entity."

Ward looked up at Coulson. He didn't know what to say.

"To top that, if you still need proof of his capability, Barton was sent on a mission while deaf. He was partnered with a Level 5 who never saw a day of field work in her life and sent on the Rumsy case. You should know that because you were the one who picked up the Ukraine and Congo siphoner Gregory Clay. Well Clint was the man who took down his replacement and got the Level 5 out of the situation after the senator attempted to rape her."

Coulson handed over another file with the Rumsy case details. "Read up on that too if you want. Or I could just explain to you how Agent Barton, after deafening himself in a last ditch effort to safe Tony Stark and Captain America, not only eliminated all insurgents single handedly but also managed to call in a pickup, order an airstrike, and drag his unconscious team by hand out of the kill zone in under an hour."

Another file hit Ward's lap. This time, Ward didn't open it. He didn't have to. He knew without reading the mission briefs that Coulson wasn't lying to him. He may have felt right about his decision to take down Barton to begin with, but now he felt like a brick was swinging around his neck.

Coulson leaned back on his desk, watching the man across from him. He saw the little traces of understanding leak through that tough exterior and figured he'd at last broken through to Ward. Coulson motioned for the door. His voice was softer now. "Go on, get out. I have some work to finish. Take the files. Ask Melinda about it if you want. Her work in Logistics had her typing almost all of those pages except the recent ones. And, Ward, the next time you decide to hot dog after one of my agents, be prepared not to make it to the hospital. I have no problem scrubbing you out and grabbing ice-cream afterwards. Understood?"

Feeling like a man who just watched his cat get run over, Ward got out of his chair. He handed the stack of files back. He'd seen everything he needed. He turned heel and headed for the door, but before he made it out, Coulson called him back for a moment.

"Ward?"

He stopped, turning his head slightly to listen.

"_You_ are one of my agents too. There is nothing that I would do for Barton that I would not do for you."

Ward straightened. His jaw was tight. He didn't like being wrong but somehow this was different. He understood where Coulson was coming from. What he was trying to say. In the end, he appreciated it. "Yes, sir. On all accounts."

The door shut behind him and Coulson returned the Blackstone, Rumsy, and Egypt files back into his drawer. He didn't like dredging up the past like that but if it kept Ward out of trouble it was worth it.

Now, back to the current Clint problem. Coulson knew that either Bruce Banner or Tony Stark were simultaneously working on their own solution to keeping SHIELD in the dark. Calling Natasha, while an option in some respects, may just get him in more hot water than he needed so he chose an alternate route. Given that he had Skye's clever online cloaking IP address, messaging Barton personally was as easy as attaching a document to an e-mail.

He copied some of the files over, just enough to show the new pattern in Clint's history without exposing all the work he'd gone through. It was a beautiful show of hard work and dedication and when at last Coulson went to press send he stopped. With a grin he reopened his files and rearranged some of the information, using his cell phone to fix a little private message.

While Clint may have been the most ambitious and loyal of his friends, there was on intimate thing Coulson knew about him that others rarely took advantage of. He never finished school. Not even sixth grade. Therefore simple tasks like deciphering a number code were often more of a challenge for him then most agents. In his line of work it mattered little. He was a scout, a visionary, and an assassin. Code breaking was left to other on his team. If Clint ever did deciphered the message, the impact would be just as good as randomly running into him in another coffee shop.

Coulson sent the email, signing at the bottom with the little private message. P.C.22435-84877329

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Happy Bagel Thursday! Please Review!

Oh and I love how I'm making everyone hate Ward. I thoroughly enjoy that power I have! Now, maybe that's been turned around a little for the brighter side of life:)


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N_ this is the END!_**_  
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**Bagel Thursday**

_PeechTao_

_Chapter 15_

It had been two days since the first hit man arrived to rob Clint from their lives. Now Sunday morning, Clint was getting house happy from his constant confinement indoors. Banner and Tony had received their awaited for computer chip shipment, allowing Clint to experience the latest and greatest of bilateral hi-def sound ricocheting around his cranium. Tony assured him he wasn't finished the modification and when Clint's eardrums finished healing they'd work on a new less visible method of dealing with his hearing loss.

In the meantime Clint spent his days under lock and key in the lab and sleeping with Steve outside his door (even though Steve never told him he was there, Clint figured it out eventually). The Avengers floor was pretty much his only available safe living space, leaving Clint to get creative and discover how enthralling the internet can be. He swiped a laptop from one of the lower offices and was often found often lazing around the living room with it. Candy crush was a new conquest he was determined to master. In the lag between regenerating his five lives in the candy saga, he flicked between e-mails, cat videos on YouTube, and internet television. This left Steve to wonder whether they risked more by keeping Clint cooped up like a neutered tom cat or letting him take his chances with potential assassins.

Tapping through his tenth e-mail check in so many minutes Clint was surprised to see that indeed something had come. It was flagged SHIELD and that got him slightly on edge. He anticipated a mission any day now, but if SHIELD was catching wind of his troubles then this might just be a courtesy warning. He opened it.

"That's weird." Clint said, "Hey, Tasha when did this come over? I didn't requisition it, did you? Did you get this message too?"

Natasha approached the screen and leaned over his arm to read.

/Mission file:

/Agent condition/

Clint Barton. AKA Hawkeye, File clearance level 5

Mission name: Bristol, AU Jan, 2003

Agent Condition: Deaf due to explosive impact

Recommended for further duty: Yes

Senior Agent to sign off: P.C.22435-84877329

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

/Personnel File:

/Agent Condition/

Clint Barton. AKA Hawkeye, File Clearance level 5

Annual Physical, Jul. 2004

Agent Condition: Prime physical performance on all measured tests, Agent suffers deafness: no hindrance to his working capacity

Recommendations: continue active duty

Senior agent to sign off: P.C.22435-84877329

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

/Personnel File Update:

/Agent Condition/

Etc. etc.

And on and on the updates went. Clint didn't get it. He didn't ask for the information, and at that the message had been sent to him from a Level 7 secure facility. He'd never even heard of a Level 7 facility. It bypassed all of SHIELD's normal views and was double encrypted to bypass Stark's server. Someone had literally gone into SHIELD records, readjusted all of his medical forms, and that was it.

"Tony!" Clint roared. "What the Hell did you do to my SHIELD file? I bet this was you, and I don't know what a Level 7 security clearance is but this has you written all over it!"

From the couch, Tony got up and walked over to stare to the file. After a minute he uprooted Clint and sat with the computer on his lap instead. He scanned the information diligently, double checking with the mission file originals that had been conveniently sent over beside them. What he saw developing was nothing short of a miniature miracle. A miracle started in 2003 and stretching right up to present day.

"Well, Loxley it seems someone hacked your file."

"No duh." Clint snapped.

"No, I mean that in a good way. These are concrete, this passcode I've seen before. Someone who knew you literally re-wrote your entire history. When Fury finds this, if he ever even looks for it, He's going to find out that you went deaf in Bristol Australia over ten years ago and that you've been working for SHIELD ever since, Clint someone just made you a scape goat. This has gift horse written all over it. I want to take credit but I can't. This is almost musical."

Clint pushed Tony out of the seat and relooked over the paper work. "P.C.? That's Coulson's sign off. But those numbers don't make any sense, he had a security code, but that wasn't it. They're all scrambled."

"Maybe Fury won't look that hard, he's only got one eye. Natasha, was this your guy?"

She shrugged innocently enough. "I don't know. Haven't heard from him at all."

Tony hacked into the SHIELD database and accessed Clint's files. Sure enough a carbon copy of what had been messaged to Clint was now fully integrated into his file. No one was going to be the wiser. Clint was free and clear. But there was a difference: The personnel code for Coulson was different. It had reverted to his original one.

Natasha enjoyed watching their little exchange. She was almost bursting inside to tell them exactly what she knew to be true, but how could she? She'd given her word as an agent and a friend. For all intents and purposes Phil Coulson was dead, and he was going to stay that way. But knowing that somewhere he was still out their keeping an eye out for them like always was a comfort that took difficulty to hide.

The other Avengers sat there for a long time, scratching their heads over the identity of the mystery Santa Claus. The E-mail literally came from nowhere. The minute Tony tried to take the sender; he was led into an internet black hole. They were left with nothing but the results right in from of their eyes. Clint was free, and their lives were finally able to keep going on.

Clint sat in his chair, not sure exactly how he should feel. Well, that's not quite right. He knew how he was feeling. He was overjoyed, overwhelmed, ecstatic, and so many other emotions rolled into one he could hardly breathe through them. Never, not in his wildest dreams, could he have imagined something like this happening. He looked over at Natasha, his face displaying all that emotion he bottled up. It was difficult to read him through the marred swellings all over his face.

"Thank you." He told her. "Nat, I don't know what you did, or what you're not telling me. But thank you."

She blinked in surprise. "How do you know I'm hiding something? I didn't say that."

He smiled at her, but his look was still a serious one. He wanted her to understand just how grateful he was. "Sometimes I just know. Thank you."

Natasha didn't want to look into that knowing face of his and somehow reveal everything. Clint had a way of pulling things out of her she'd rather keep buried. Instead she took the computer from him and looked at the new files. The sign off code Coulson used was different from his originals. She bet there was some come hidden in there for her. Given it was Coulson, usually it was relatively uncomplicated. It took her little time to realize it was a phone code.

P.C.22435-84877329

Phil Coulson, Bagel Thursday.

"I better grab my phone. SHIELD logistics won't take long to figure this out. When they do I expect Fury's going to be hounding after me." Clint stood, leaving the laptop on the center table as he made his way back to his room. He tried hard not to run. He wanted to leave so bad it was making him shake. He barely reached the hall before he began to heave. His knees quaked. He fell into his room door before numbly fussing the knob open. He hit the floor in a quivering heap.

Coulson. He knew it was Coulson before he even reached the bottom of the e-mail. Before he could finish the last rearranged doc. He knew it the moment he saw the Level 7 tag. The sign off code? That was just Phil's usual flare for icing. Bagel Thursday. Clint wasn't an idiot, he knew a phone code when he saw one and since joining the Avengers had grown better at reading them than his limited education typically allowed. Phil wouldn't know that since he'd been gone this whole time. He'd been dead this whole time.

"Clint!"

Barton felt a set of arms grab him and haul him to his feet. The person dropped him into a chair and looked up into his face. It was Natasha.

"I know it's a shock, but it's ok." Natasha told him. "Clint it's over. You've been worrying about this, but it's solved now. I can't tell you why, but just accept it—"

"You knew."

Natasha drew back a little.

"You knew it. How long have you known?" Clint demanded.

She stood, very slowly, and closed the door on them.

"How could you keep that from me?" Clint whispered. "Natasha . . . Coulson he was everything."

"It's how he wanted it." She said honestly. "He worried, and I did, that if you knew you'd take off. You'd give up on everything SHIELD's done and just leave. He saw how much you loved it here and didn't want to do anything to keep you from that."

Clint folded over, hanging his head in his hands.

"I'm sorry; I thought it was for the best. He took out Ward, not me. It was over before I even got there. He knew, Clint, he saw us in the bagel shop and he knew it right away. Ward is part of his new team."

"New team." Clint tasted the words like a poison. He shot out of the chair, unsure what to do with himself.

"Clint, I'm sorry. You weren't supposed to know. Coulson was working to fix your record. We can't tell the others. You know we can't. Tony will lose his mind. If Fury finds out that we know Coulson would be in serious hot water."

"I just can't believe it." Clint repeated.

"I know I felt the same as you."

"And you kept this back?"

"It was hard to, but I gave him my word. So yes."

"From me? You didn't tell _me_." Clint approached, cornering her against the door.

"I did what I had to, Clint. And don't try that guilt trip with me, you didn't tell me you were deaf."

"That's not the same thing."

"It's a lie, so it _is_ the same."

They were close to each other now, their foreheads almost pressed together. Tension slowly eased out of them. The word partner meant everything. Lying to one another rarely was appropriate unless it meant saving each other's life. Situations like that came up, not often, but enough to make this moment a distinct familiarity. Natasha moved first, pressing a kiss against his neck.

"I'm sorry." She whispered. "I'm sorry about SHIELD, about lying, about finding out like this. This must have been one of the longest weeks in your life."

Clint sighed against her. "You have no idea."

"Can I ask you something?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"When we danced the other night, you let me lead."

He smiled. "I didn't have a choice. I couldn't exactly keep up with the music. And you are changing the subject."

"Maybe I am." She pirouetted around him and went to his desk. His iPod was still there where he'd left it the other day. She flipped through a few of the songs until she found one she liked. Or, rather she found one he liked. "You have the strangest music on here, Clint."

"You are still changing the subject."

"I'm not an idiot, I know I am. And I would really love to watch you groove to Single Ladies, but I have a little something else in mind."

"I'll have you know I can rock out to Single Ladies. I can put a ring on anything." He took the music player from her, flicked through a few cover arts, and played Vito Disalvo's _Tango in the Park_. "This doesn't mean I forgive you."

"Fine. We're even." She said, taking the iPod from his hand and dropped it to the desk again. She wrapped one hand gently around his neck.

"I want to see him." Clint laced his fingers around her waist.

"You know that can't happen." She said, tugging him against her.

"I'm a sniper; I can find him anywhere I want. Now that I know it's worth it to look." He pulled her off balance.

"Determined to lead this time?" She asked.

"Determined to fight about it?"

"And what were you going to do about that?"

"Can I ask you something?"

Natasha twisted him sideways. He twirled her in return and the two circled the bed with their bodies flowing together. The music crested and suddenly that battle of will they enjoyed those years ago on the mission to Dubai surfaced now. They found their rhythm again as if it never left. Even Clint's swollen face and stabbed chest held him back little from losing himself to her moves and the music.

"Can we not do this anymore? This lying thing?"

Natasha twirled, dipped, her bare foot pointing and dropping again as he drew her close and flicked her away.

"All right." She said. "Full disclosure. Even on covert ops." She tugged, pulling him off balance and into an embrace.

"This is a funny way to make up. In fact I think we look pretty ridiculous right now. And I still want Coulson."

"Then we'll find him. Next Thursday."

"Promise?"

Natasha twisted, tossing him across the room and onto the bed. "What, do you want me to seal it with a kiss?"

From the bed, Clint shrugged his shoulders a little. "Well, it's not a bad idea."

Natasha pulled the room door open with a smile. "Glad we could clear some things up. And no. That's not happening."

Clint was left alone on the bed, the cords of _Tango in the Park_ filling his room with life. He listened to the beautiful notes amplified through his skull by Tony and Banner's pet projects. So much had happened. He started this week like all the rest. A mission to nowhere, defending the downtrodden, saving Steve and Tony's life, going deaf, a Senatorial Gala, a new friend in SHIELD, getting his hearing back, an attack by Agent Ward, and finding out Coulson was back from the dead. His life changed so much in so short a period of time. At least he had a family to back him now.

There was a knock on his door frame interrupting Clint from the glory of Neo singing _Closer_. Clint looked over.

"You ok?" Banner asked.

Clint sat up. "Yeah, what do you mean?"

Bruce chuckled. "Clint, I'm a scientist who spent the last year on this team working with Tony Stark on secret government projects. I think I can handle a number code."

"I guess Coulson wasn't being very careful about that." Clint said.

"I don't think he wanted to be." Bruce replied.

"I'm ok. You ok?"

"Given that everything I was brought here to do was based on a lie, and given I had little interaction with Agent Coulson, I suppose the news has hit me the least."

"Tony?"

"Tony is Tony. I think the entire team's a little emotionally disheveled this week. I suppose if he was ever going to be told, now was the perfect time to do it. He's been up for four days straight working with me. He's tired. He's been worried so much about making things up to you that hearing about Coulson was just one more brick to throw at him."

Clint got out of bed. He grabbed his cell phone and headed to the living room again. He was surprised to see Tony not sitting there on the couch, fawning over the laptop and sunk so deep into a depression he couldn't move. Steve appeared, holding a towel and dressed in nothing but a set of swim trunks.

"Hey, you guys coming or not?" he said, walking toward Tony's room.

Both Bruce and Clint had a bad feeling about this new development.

:(:):(:):

The penthouse suite could only be reached by a private elevator located in Tony's ordinary bedroom at the end of the hall. Few of the Avengers ever had the courage to traverse the passage and enjoy what the penthouse had to offer, leading them to enjoy "family" time in the living room and kitchen more than anything else. When Tony offered the use of the Penthouse, complete with Olympic pool, it was well worth it to drop what you were doing and go.

They found Stark behind the bar with Natasha lying out in her bikini pool side. It left Clint to imagine if she'd been wearing that bathing suit under her clothes the whole time given how fast she changed into it. Steve broke off to jump in the water. Bruce and Clint looked over at Tony.

"Pick your poison, gentleman." Stark said, pouring himself a scotch on the rocks. "If we're having a party, we're going to do it right."

"Party?" Clint asked, walking over. He grabbed the martini shaker for himself. "And can I ask what's the occasion?"

Bruce took up a seat on one of the stools. He was just as curious to find out if Tony was beginning to crack up under all the pressure he'd put himself under.

"The occasion, my friend, is to the untimely resurrection of one Phil Coulson, the removal of our own Clint Barton from SHIELD's top ten kill list, the technical genius of myself and Dr. Bruce Banner at restoring your hearing," Tony dropped a single malt in front of Bruce. It sported a little pink umbrella. "And to us. All of us. We deserve a little gratitude for keeping ourselves pulled together even in the face of one of Cyclops's most elaborate lies. And last, but not least, we'll need a little fortitude before going to track Coulson down."

Given that elaborate statement Clint switched his martini for a tall vodka. From across the pool deck Natasha shouted for one of her own with a lemon zest.

"Guess that means we know where we're going next." Clint said.

Bruce smiled. He saluted the two behind the bar and headed over to Natasha and Steve. The sun was still out, though it was beginning to dip behind the shade of the building spires. If the past was any indication of the present, Tony was expected to be black out drunk tonight. Dancing would be involved. Something was destined to explode. Drunken romps up and down the yet furnished levels of the Tower would ensue. Something would get thrown out a window, which floor was yet to be determined. To withstand all of that and not lose his cool, Bruce was going to need this part, the relaxation before the storm. He was determined to enjoy every afforded second of it.

"Hawk?"

Clint finished pouring the second vodka and looked over at Tony. Sometimes when they were alone Stark preferred to call him by his nick name. Usually it wasn't actually his nick name but an unabashedly insulting rendition of it.

"Anthony?"

"Phil meant a lot to you. He meant a lot to me, but nothing like you. I know he was like a father. I can't imagine what it's like to find out like this that SHIELD faked his death just to bring this weird little thing of ours together. I'm sorry."

Clint tapped his shoulder. Tony looked up at him to see Clint remove his hearing aids and place them on the bar. "What's that? I'm sorry. I'm deaf and I couldn't hear you trying to apologize for something that isn't your fault. What I should be listening to is you playing beer pong with Captain Spangle Shorts while I get my dance on with Red."

Situation diffused.

"You know Black Widows do eat their mates, right?" Tony replied, and then groaned when he realized Clint couldn't hear him. He grabbed the hearing aids, his drink, and headed for the pool. Tonight, they were going to celebrate and vent all at once. Tonight a new chapter was ending in their lives. One built on a single fundamental lie that was now crashing into the light. The team had changed. The dynamic was going to change too. But that didn't mean as friends their lives were any less important to each other as before.

Steve was still their leader. A man to look up to and wise beyond his seventy plus year existence. Bruce was like an uncle, perhaps even a father, bent on making sure everyone's happiness was maintained at the status quo. Natasha was a deadly Russian bombshell with intimate knowledge of everyone. To lose her meant blackmail for the rest of their natural lives and a woman was always handy in a tense situation made by men. Tony was a brother. Emotionally bankrupt in some respects but highly loyal and just. Thor visited like a crazy cousin bent on whirlwinds of trouble.

All of these lives assembled around him made Clint feel privileged to be an Avenger. If he had to reflect on his role in the team he would have to say it was simply this: glue. With him, Natasha stayed close to home. Bruce and Tony extracted themselves from their lab more than once a week and Steve had a dependable friend to rely on. None of this would have happened. None of this would have been part of Clint's life if he had not taken that leap of faith, so long ago, sitting in the booth of a Dunkin Doughnuts with the sharp dressed Phil Coulson sitting across from him. Everything he had now started way back on that day.

Clint raised his glass of Vodka to the others. "To Bagel Thursdays."

* * *

Well this has been a fantastic ride. This store has gone from being a very cut and dry Clint is deaf and dealing with it book to an absolute ride! Oh, and funny thought, I actually mentioned an Agent Morrissey in my Better Homes and Gardens book. I completely forgot! Silly me:)

Thank you so much for all the feedback and support. I hope you've enjoyed this as much as me and thank you for the great little plot points along the way. I don't think this is the absolute end either. What would it be like when Clint one day showed up on Coulson's door step? Oh the wonderful places I can go!

Again, thank you for sticking with this and I hope you liked it!

Please Review! Tell me what you think:)


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